The Artist
by CindaEdna
Summary: Has Draco Malfoy, profiler for Scotland Yard, met his match in the wizard serial killer he's been chasing? Not after he enlists the help of Ginny Weasley. Join Draco as he investigates the biggest case of his career. Post Hogwarts, AU after OotP, D/G.
1. Shadows and Roses

Disclaimer: All HP characters belong to JK Rowling. The story is mine, but even that isn't very original.

Notes: This prologue contains a detailed rape and murder scene. If that is something you'd rather not read, please feel free to skip to chapter 1. The story is AU after book 5. I hope you like it.

* * *

Robert

He stood in the shadows, watching her...hating her. He hated everything about her, from her red hair and freckles to her figure and clothing. She stood on the corner, laughing with someone. Her smile pierced him. Why should she be so happy? It was wrong for her to be so happy. He hated her--he hated all of them. He emerged from the shadows and approached her, masking his contempt as he did so. When he was a few feet away from her, he stopped and stared at the ground, hands in his pockets.

She turned from her friend, and eyed him up and down. "Wot's your pleasure, honey?" she asked, smiling.

"I d-don't know, I've n-n-never d-done this before." He smirked mentally, but was careful not to let it show on his meticulously-schooled face. This was a favorite persona of his; it set them at ease.

She turned back to her friend. "I'll see you later, May, got to get to work."

May smiled and replied, "Me too, luv. Laters." Her friend moved down the block some and took her place on the curb.

She turned back to him; he was still studying the pavement. "S'all right, luv, I won't bite, not 'less you want me to." He carefully counted to three before looking up at her face, a move that was well practiced. He gave a slight smile. "There now, wot's your name?"

"R-Robert, what's y-yours?"

"Wot d'you want it to be, luv?"

"Rachel," he said it fast, too fast. Damn, he had to calm down and lull her back into security. Fortunately, she didn't seem to notice.

"Rachel it is, luv. Do you have a car, or some place we can go?" She caressed his chest suggestively. The bitch had the gall to touch him! She was going to pay.

"I have a car, it's p-parked over th-th-there." He led her to a car (it wasn't his - he wasn't stupid) and they got in and drove through the city. He glanced at her from time to time, as they passed dozens of suitable places to conduct their business. She was starting to get nervous. She was good at hiding it, better than the others had been, but she was nervous; he could smell it. He locked the doors and delighted in her involuntary shutter. "We're almost there," he said, dropping the persona. She noticed. He knew that she noticed the change, but she hid it; she was good.

She shrugged. "S'your money." She turned her head to look out the window. Oh, she was nervous. He pulled the car over into the park, and unlocked the door for her; he could see her weighing her options in her mind. 'Do I run? Where could I go?' Heh... they never ran, and even if they did, he could stop them. But they never ran.

He opened his door and stepped out. She did the same, choosing to put her fears aside and continue as though nothing had changed. Everything was perfect; he even decided to lull her back, to give her one last feeling of ease, of control. "Is this a good p-p-p-place? We could go some p-place else, if you'd r-r-r-rather."

She smiled at him. "No, luv, this is just fine, how would you like me?"

He produced a blanket from the back seat of the car and spread it on the ground. "T-take off your c-clothes," he directed. Over time he'd refined his system to an art form - things were much easier when they undressed themselves. He watched her as she unashamedly stripped before him. As he admired her milky skin and well-formed breasts, he was overcome with desire. He liked this one - but wait he didn't like her, he hated her. The bitch was going to pay for making him want her! Angry with himself over his weakness, he rushed at her, threw her onto the blanket and took her. He gave her a taste of his anger, his hatred. As he thrust into her, he pulled out the knife that he always kept with him and savagely sliced open her throat. Her life force drained from her. She struggled, but it was pointless… the damage was done. Still, he continued to thrust into her as her gasps for air and the gurgling sent him into an erotic frenzy. He watched her blood pool around her, growing ever darker the more it flowed from her wound. A look of pure fear adorned her face as she died. He loved that look. He stared into her vacant eyes as he climaxed; it was the only time he ever made eye contact.

Withdrawing from her, he pulled his wand out of his pocket and got to work. "Scourgify," he muttered, as the blood removed itself from his clothes. He cast several more cleaning charms, removing the rest of the blood from the area. Next, he cast a charm to remove all of his semen from her and rendered her body completely clean. He then took a blade of grass from the ground, transfigured it into a crimson rose and set it next to her. God she was beautiful; they all were after he removed their taint. He posed her provocatively and took several pictures. He was using wizard film; the background would move as a breeze blew through the grass and trees of the surrounding area, but she would not. She would never move again. Good. He tenderly braided her long red hair and cut the ponytail off. After pocketing the braid he went back to work and magically removed all evidence of his fingerprints from the car and from her body. Once he was satisfied that all of his physical evidence had been removed, he blew her a kiss and Apparated to his home.

* * *

Thanks to Chained by Epiphany for the chapter title and first sentence, to Kazfeist for the QAD beta, and thanks to you for reading. 


	2. Bad Day

Disclaimer: All HP characters belong to JK Rowling. The story is mine, but even that isn't very original.

Notes: The story is AU after book 5. Please don't be alarmed by Draco's apparent OOC-ness. He isn't; it's just been a long fifteen years since he has finished at Hogwarts.

I hope you like it.

* * *

Draco

Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep

Draco Malfoy opened his eyes and looked at his alarm clock, he tried to will it to turn off, but it wasn't working. He would have to move. _Damn_. He didn't want to move, he was comfortable; why did he keep it across the room again? Oh yes, so he would have to get up to turn it off.

_Idiot_.

_'OK, Malfoy, you can do this, on three all right? One, two, three.'_ He didn't move. He started to look around for his wand and spotted it, on his dresser, next to the alarm clock. _Grrr_. Maybe if he ignored it, it would go away. He rolled over onto his stomach and closed his eyes.

'Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep'

_Damn it_, he opened his eyes and looked at the clock again. It was 7:45. He was going to be late. _Figures_. Reluctantly, he got out of bed, turned off the alarm and headed to the bathroom to get ready. He had to give a lecture this morning to some students; he hated speaking in front of groups. _Double Damn_. Despite the rush he was in, he lingered in the shower; the hot water felt as good as his bed had. At least, it did until the hot water ran out. _Damn it all_! He got out of the shower, toweled off and headed back into his bedroom. As he passed his TV, he flicked it on to catch the weather. It was out of habit only, as the weather hadn't changed and it wasn't likely to. He dressed in sullen silence.

"And now we go to Bill with today's forecast. Bill?"

"Thanks, Jim. Put your mittens on if your going out this morning; it's negative twelve degrees Celsius right now. We're looking at a high of about negative one today, but with the wind chill factor it will feel as if it is only negative nine. The good news is there doesn't seem to be anymore snow on our horizon-"

"Thank God for that," Draco mumbled.

"Looking at the ten-day forecast, we will likely return to our normal April weather sometime around next Tuesday. Jim?"

Draco went back into the bathroom to brush his teeth as Jim continued with his news report. "This just in," he said gravely. "The frozen, partially decomposed body, of a young woman was found today, in Scadbury Park. Preliminary reports say that her throat was slit. We go live to Carol on the scene, Carol?"

"Thank you, Jim..."

Draco came back into the room and watched the report; he stood staring at the TV with his toothbrush in his hand.

_Shit_.

He jumped as his mobile rang, and moved across the room to answer it.

"Malfoy."

"It's Krellor, there's been another one," said his partner.

"I just saw, is it our guy?"

"Looks like. How soon can you get here?"

"I've been scheduled to give a lecture, but I could cancel it-"

"Nice try. It'll be noon before the snow can be cleared away from the scene, I'll see you after you're done."

"Keep me posted."

"Good luck," Krellor said with a slight tone of amusement.

"Yeah," Draco frowned as he closed his phone. This was not going to be a good day.

"Careful attention to the crime scene and particulars about the body are imperative to understanding the mind of the killer." He clicked the mouse attached to the computer, and the screen behind him switched from his lecture outline to a photograph of a dead woman in her bed. She obviously had been murdered, and it was fairly clear that she had been raped. There were a couple of gasps and groans from the students, but they remained attentive. "Now who can tell me what happened here?" No one responded. Draco sighed inwardly. "Anybody?"

An hour and forty minutes later the class gave him polite applause as he left the room. He walked down the hall, rounded a corner and collapsed onto a bench. He placed his head in his hands and concentrated on breathing. Man, that was a lot of people; he silently gave thanks to his parents for teaching him how to school his emotions so carefully. As aberrant as his upbringing had been, sometimes the lessons he had learned had been helpful. His pager went off; the crime scene had been cleared of the snow and Forensics were beginning their investigation. He dialed his partner.

"This is Krellor."

"What've we got?"

"This one is more brutal than the last was," he said gravely. "Young woman, maybe early twenties, he nearly took off her head this time, abandoned car, they're going over it for prints right now. I've sent a car round for you, should be there shortly."

"See you soon," he said as he hung up his phone and walked out into the cold to wait for his ride.

Police cars surrounded the area when Draco pulled up. He stepped onto the field and zipped up his coat, wishing he had renewed the warming spell he had cast on it the previous week; it was cold. His wand was in his briefcase, for emergencies, but he rarely used it. Wind whipped through the field, making his eyes water. He looked around and took in the now familiar scene. There were people taking pictures from all angles, dusting for prints, and even melting the snow with portable hair dryers in the hope of finding some evidence. He spotted his partner walking toward him.

Joseph Krellor was a short, portly fellow of good nature and high intelligence. He had been Draco's partner for the last three years and his friend for the last five. When Joe was off the clock he was known for pulling jokes and downing pints at the pub. However, when it came to his work, he was all business, a quality that Draco also possessed and appreciated in those with whom he worked.

"Hello Draco," he said soberly.

Draco nodded to his partner. "Joe," he said, equally as sober. "Where is she?"

Joe nodded and turned around. "Follow me," he said.

The snow crunched beneath their feet they walked through the maze of people to a clearing. "I left it for you; they haven't touched anything."

"Good." He pulled out his camera and started to take pictures. The girl lay on top of a blanket. She was naked; her skin, which had once been pink, was now blue, grey, and green. Her green eyes stared vacantly at the sky, and her face was marred by fear. Draco continued to take pictures and absorb the scene. He bent down to examine her body more closely. From his vantage point, he could see the bruises on her torso and thighs; and that her hair had been cut. He touched it and felt the faintest residual trace of a cutting charm - this was a new development. His eyes moved to the rose that lay across her arms, it was black and frozen; he picked it up with a gloved hand, and even through the latex, he could sense the transfiguration spell. Draco allowed himself to smile and blessed the freakishly cold weather that had kept the spells intact. Now he knew what he was working with. He stood up, removed his gloves and blew some warm air on his hands. Joe came over and handed him a cup of coffee.

"What are you smiling about?" he asked.

"New information... thanks," Draco added, acknowledging the coffee. He looked back at the girl; "I really hate this guy."

"Don't we all." Joe leaned closer to his partner and looked around as if afraid of being overheard by someone. "Couldn't you just... you know," he waved his arms back and forth.

Draco arched an eyebrow, "Conduct a symphony?"

"No, m-magic," he whispered. "Find him with a, I don't know, locator spell or something?" Rather than Obliviate his best friend after he had been caught Apparating, Draco had decided to bring Joe into his confidence in regards to his wizard status. After the initial shock had worn off, Joe had come to accept the news that magic was real. Although he still had a lot to learn.

Draco shook his head. "You've been watching too much telly. It doesn't work like that." He surveyed the scene again; there was nothing else for him to do out here. "Come on, let's get out of here, I'm freezing my arse off."

They took Joe's car back to the city.

"So, what new information is there? Everything looked the same to me, except for the rose."

"Yep." Draco was staring out the window, resigning himself to what he'd have to do tomorrow.

"Draco? I said what new information is there?" Joe asked more loudly than before.

"Huh? Oh, he's a wizard"

"He is? How can you tell?"

"The cold," he was still only half there.

"What?" Joe snapped his fingers in his partner's face. "Draco!"

"What? Sorry, he cast spells on the whole site; I could feel the residuals. And, don't do that."

"You can do that? Feel the residue or whatever?"

"Residuals, and yes if they're strong enough."

"What about the cold then?"

"The cold slowed the rate of decay on the spells he cast; otherwise this would have been like the others: no evidence at all."

Joe's mobile rang. "This is Krellor," he listened for a few moments then hung up. "They've got some prints off the car."

"They're not his."

"Maybe he messed up."

"He didn't, they're not his," he ran a hand through his hair, and turned back to the window.

"You okay, mate?"

"Yeah, I've just got a headache."

"D'ya want to pop in the shop, for some aspirin or something?"

"Huh? No, I need to get to the office and check on some things."

"You sure? You don't look very good."

"Yes, mum, I'm sure," he snapped.

"All right, it's your head."

Draco sat at his desk as he read the autopsy report. There was nothing unexpected; she had been raped then killed. Severe blood loss due to a severed carotid artery, it said. The date of death was some six weeks previous. He closed his eyes and tried to see the crime: he wanted to know what this 'man', and he used the term loosely, was thinking and feeling. He looked at the photographs and got... nothing new. _Damn it_. He was angry. There was a soft rapping on his door. "What?" he snapped. The door opened and the cleaning lady walked in.

"I need to empty your bin," she said

"Go ahead." He rubbed his eyes and looked at his watch. It was 8:30. He sighed, stood up, and started gathering his things. He had to get the hell out of there, before he went mad. He grabbed his bag and headed down to the pool. The Yard was equipped with an extensive exercise facility, and while Draco's job as a profiler, rarely required him to chase down bad guys (he left that to the people with death wishes), he still liked to avail himself of it. It saved him the gym fee, anyway. Tonight he was swimming laps; he found this to be the best way to clear his mind.

Afterwards, while he was finishing in the shower, he had an epiphany; he shut off the water and dried himself with his towel as he ran to his locker where the files were. He sat on the bench and lined up the photos he had taken of the five known victims. He had a feeling that there were women who hadn't yet been discovered. The photographs all showed basically the same scene: naked women with their throats cut, with varying degrees of force, splayed out in discreet sections of public parks, their bodies in various stages of decomposition. It was the rose that made things different for this last one; there was a strange beauty in the scene. The killer probably found it erotic, artful. "He thinks he's an artist," he mumbled to himself. He pulled out the notes he had made on the Jane Doe from today, under _wizard_, and _Muggle-born_; he added one more word: _Art_. He closed up the file, got dressed and Apparated home.

The next morning, after another losing battle with his alarm clock, Draco Malfoy stood in front of his closet at a loss. Ever since the discovery of his serial killer's wizard status, Draco had been mentally schooling himself for the fact that he'd have to go to the Ministry of Magic and alert them of the situation; something he desperately did not want to do. And to make matters worse, his robes were horribly out of style... probably, he didn't really know. It had been about five years since he had been in proper wizard London. Sure, he visited Aunt Andromeda and Uncle Ted, but they didn't exactly have a dress code, and since the Malfoy name was about as taboo as Voldemort's, (not that people feared to say it or anything), Madam Malkin's shop was not one he frequented. He sighed and pulled out his black robes; they were classically cut and unlikely to be too out of place. He laid them out on his bed and went into the bathroom to attend to his grooming regimen - taking extra time to style his hair. He was determined that if his robes were going to be out of place than at least his hair wouldn't be. He dressed quickly and took one last semi-satisfied look at himself in the mirror, before heading to the kitchen.

He poured himself some coffee and sat down at the table and collected his notes from his case. What he knew about this guy was 1) he is a Muggle-born wizard; 2) he has serious women issues, all women, not just prostitutes. Even though the only victims they'd found thus far had been streetwalkers, he had a feeling this wouldn't always be the case, prostitutes were easy to get alone; 3) he fancies he's an artist; 4) he has a hair fetish; 5) he suspected the son of a bitch was a necrophiliac; 6) this was definitely one sick bastard, and 7) he had no clue where to find him.

He gathered up his things, placed his empty mug in the sink, took a few more deep breaths to steady his nerves, and then Apparated to the Ministry.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and purpose for your visit." The speaker was a short witch with blonde hair. She was wearing sky blue robes and carried a clipboard. She looked like she still belonged in Hogwarts, although he supposed she had probably finished.

"Draco Malfoy. I have an appointment with Auror Tonks," he answered.

The girl's eyes widened as he stated his name. She stared at him with her mouth slightly open for a moment, before recovering enough to hand him his visitor's badge and pointing to the wand station for his to be weighed and registered. "You'll be on level 4, Mister Malfoy."

"Thanks," he said, almost hiding the sarcasm that surfaced at her reaction to his name. Really, it was ridiculous. He surrendered his wand to be weighed and shifted uncomfortably as the Ministry employee gaped at him.

The lift doors opened and Draco, plus several paper airplanes, exited. He approached the large reception desk that faced the lifts and was greeted by another small young witch, who had yet to look up from the magazine she was reading.

"Welcome to the Auror department, how may I help you?" she asked in a very bored sounding monotone, as she kept reading her magazine.

"I have an appointment with Nymphadora Tonks."

"Auror Tonks was called away on urgent business. Try again tomorrow, yeah?"

"Is there anyone else I could talk to? It doesn't really matter who." _Anyone, so long as I don't have to come back here_, he thought.

The woman looked at him for a moment, then sighed and pointed her wand at the door. It clicked open. "To your left, yeah? Just about everyone else has gone on assignment."

Draco walked through the door and turned left when a thought occurred to him. He turned back to the young witch who had already gone back to her magazine. "Excuse me, who am I-?"

"Auror Weasley." she said without looking up, missing the slight look of panic that crossed his face as the door slammed shut and locked. Weasley. He took a few more deep breaths; '_Right, you can do this, just like at Hogwarts. Even if you have abandoned everything that your family once stood for, you are still a Malfoy and can handle yourself in the face of anything Weasley_.' He wished once more that his robes were newer as he started down the hall looking for red hair. On his right were huge windows and cubicles, and to his left were frosted glass doors to larger offices. The whole place looked like the fancy law offices from the telly: big space, and mahogany siding. He passed an office door with the name Weasley written on it. A quick look through the frosted glass showed a blurry red blob. This must be the place; he knocked on the door.

"Come in."

He opened the door and caught sight of one Ronald Weasley hunched over his desk doing paper work.

"Just a second," he said without looking up.

The years had been kind to him, mostly. He wasn't as ugly as Draco remembered him being at Hogwarts, having lost much of the gangly-ness that had marred his appearance all through school, but that really wasn't saying much. From his vantage point, he could see that Ron had a long scar down his cheek, and his left hand had a bandage on it, which is probably why he was here and not out on whatever assignment that everyone else was on. All in all, he looked older and also scarier. '_Oh good,_' he thought, '_Weasel King can pummel my arse now._' He looked around the office and saw hoards of children staring back at him and waiving from portraits on the wall. By this point, Ron had looked up from his paper work, and was staring at his visitor with unabashed shock.

"I thought you were dead."

"You thought wrong, Weasley. I see you're as good a detective now as you were wealthy at Hogwarts." He smirked, falling back into his old patterns.

Ron narrowed his eyes, leaned over and spoke into the intercom. "Jenny?"

"Yes, Auror Weasley?" came the reply from the reception witch.

"In future, when a person who was my mortal enemy for seven years before his disappearance - leading me to hope that rumors of his death were true - drops in for a visit, I could do with some warning."

"Oh" she paused. "Draco Malfoy to see you."

"Thanks," he said sarcastically, while shaking his head.

Draco heard all of this and, with much difficulty, was able to turn his smile into a smirk.

Ron turned back to him. "Why are you here?"

Draco could see his hand move closer to his wand, which was on his desk. He cleared his throat. "I've come to alert the Ministry to a situation involving a wizard serial murderer."

A slight look of disappointment flashed across Ron's face, as if he'd been expecting Draco to cackle evilly and declare his intentions for resurrecting Voldemort. He looked blankly for a second before wittily replying, "Huh?"

Draco's eyes flicked to a chair opposite the desk. Ron must have noticed, because he gestured to the chair and said, "Sit down."

He sat and pulled files from his briefcase. "So far, we have found five women who were all killed in the same manner." He placed the first photograph in front of Ron. "Isabella Hinkley, twenty-three, was our first victim. She was found approximately two months after her death." He placed the next photo on top of the first, "Georgia Brown, nineteen, was found about ten weeks after her death." He continued through the other photos, "And finally Jane Doe, we found her yesterday, she's been dead for about six weeks." He could see Weasley pale at the last picture. He supposed she resembled family of his, what with the hair and all.

Ron looked up at him, "Why is this Ministry business?"

"Because he's a wizard." He paused for a moment, "I've also come to get permission to access the Ministry's records in the hopes of finding a suspect."

Ron looked at him incredulously, "You want me to give you permission to view the Ministry's records?"

"Truthfully I'd prefer it from someone higher up, but I suppose you'll do."

"You're going to have to do some explaining first."

"Like?"

"Like how you know so much about this guy." He was looking at Draco's notes on the killer. "How do you even know he's a wizard, much less a Muggle-born?"

Draco sighed mentally, "I could feel the residuals, left over from some of the spells he cast. The cold preserved them on the Jane Doe."

"What sort of spells?"

"A cutting charm on her hair," he pointed to the woman's short hair. "A Transfiguration spell on the rose, and just about every cleaning charm you could think of and then some."

"These women are Muggles, though. Why would a Muggle-born go 'round killing Muggles?"

"You do know Voldemort was a Muggle, right?" Ron blushed; he had, apparently, forgotten. Draco would never forget the shock of hearing that the man he would have died for at one point, and whom his father followed to his own death, was nothing better than a half-blood - back when he cared about that sort of thing. "And besides these murders aren't about race, they're about gender and hatred."

"That still doesn't explain why you think this guy is a Muggle-born."

"He kills them with a knife, the only magic he uses is to clear away his physical evidence and to take his trophies. Anyone who had grown up as a wizard wouldn't care what evidence the Muggle police found. I certainly wouldn't; just a quick 'Avada Kadavra' then Apparate away..." He trailed off when he saw Ron reaching for his wand again. He cleared his throat before pointing out, "I was kidding about that last bit."

Ron stopped his reach, but didn't retract his hand; it remained loosely clasped around his wand. "What is it you do, exactly?"

"I'm a profiler."

Ron gave him a blank look.

"It's my job to figure out what the criminal is thinking and to anticipate his next move."

"So you get paid to think like a psychopath?"

Draco narrowed his eyes, seeing where this was going. "Basically."

"So you must be employee of the month, eh?" He chuckled at his own joke, but stopped when he saw Draco's face. For Draco's part, he was using the same energies he used on his alarm clock every morning to will Ron to burst into flames. It wasn't working on him either.

Ron cleared his throat. "What exactly are you looking for us to do, here?"

"First of all, I would like you to give me access to the Ministry's records so I can do my job."

"I'm still not sure about that."

"Why?"

"Honestly, you've been off the map for quite some time, and some of your old mates are starting to get released from Azkaban." He babbled on like this for a while, never actually getting to his, blindingly obvious, point.

Draco rolled his eyes. The stress of the past couple of days, and the fact that he was actually having to suck up to Weasley, of all people, was making his temper wear thin. "Weasley!" he snapped. "Will you just get to your bloody point?"

Ron stopped and looked Draco in the eye. "I don't trust you. I think giving you access to Ministry records would be the same as inviting a Death Eater reunion into my home. How do I know you're not going to look up your old mates and, and, and…"

"And?"

"And try to bring back You-Know-Who or something?"

Draco's jaw tightened before he replied, "Well, I guess you don't."

"Exactly I-" He stopped when he heard a commotion in the hallway. The other Aurors had returned and they sounded happy. "Wait here," he said to Draco as he left to speak with his colleagues.

Draco mimed beating his head against a wall, and did his best to eavesdrop on the conversation outside. He couldn't make out everything, but he gathered that the operation had gone well. The commotion died down and he could hear someone murmuring, quietly. It must have been Weasley telling Potter about him, because, while he couldn't hear what Weasley was saying, he could hear Potter's reaction.

"What!"

"Oh good, I was hoping he'd stick around, I'm busy all next week." This statement was from a voice that was distinctly one Nymphadora Tonks'. Draco felt relieved; at least she wouldn't make him jump through hoops.

"You knew he was coming? And you didn't tell me?" Weasley, again.

"We had an appointment, I didn't plan for Jennings to surface today or for you to be injured, requiring me to pick up the slack."

"What's he even doing here, I thought he was dead." That voice was definitely Potter's; he always tended to whinge when he got upset.

"That's what I said. He says he needs access to the Ministry records, to catch some killer."

"He wants to 'catch a killer'? Right. He probably wants to organize some sort of Death Eater Reunion."

"What are you two on about? Draco's not a Death Eater, he works with the Muggle police." She poked her head in the door. "Wotcher, Draco, come on over to my office"

Draco stood up, gathered up his files and followed her to her office, making sure he didn't burst out laughing at the sight of Potter and Weasley's twin shocked expressions. He schooled his face into his classic Malfoy smirk, as he passed by - though a careful observer could see it didn't reach his eyes. They entered Tonks' office, which was considerably bigger then Ron's had been. She had a sofa and coffee table. He sat down on the couch and put his feet on the table, feeling more relaxed then he had been all day. "How are you, Nym?"

"Oh you know, tip top."

Tonks had changed somewhat, in the last fifteen years. She was still clumsy and had that goofy humor that Draco found irritating, more often then not, but that kids seemed to enjoy. However, after the war she had been promoted quickly and with each promotion, her appearance and become more and more professional. Now, instead of spiky pink hair and blue jeans, she wore carefully tailored work robes and her long blonde hair was pulled back in a bun.

"I'm sorry about missing dinner the other night, I got busy."

"Why are you here, Draco?"

He sighed and spread out his files, again. He handed her the photographs. "The guy who's been doing this is a wizard. I've just found out yesterday. I need access to Ministry records in order to help find him."

She looked up from the photos. "Sure."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, why?"

"The way Weasley made it sound, you'd need me to give you my first born son or something."

Tonks frowned, slightly "I don't know what you've heard, but the Ministry frowns on baby farming now." She smiled as she handed him some forms. "Fill these out and you can view whatever you want, up to Level Three. That will get you names and histories."

"Thanks, Nym."

"I'll see what I can do about getting you a temporary commission, too."

"What, be an Auror?"

"For this case."

He started to protest, but then he thought better of it. "That's the only way I'll be able to continue the investigation, isn't it?"

She nodded. "Normal procedure dictates that all Muggle participants be Obliviated and the case turned over to us, but seeing as how you're family…"

"Thanks, Nym." he hesitated a few seconds before asking, "What about my colleagues?"

"For now, I will leave that to your discretion, but I want to be kept in the loop every step of the way. Understand?"

Draco nodded and stood up. "If you need me, I'll be in the Hall of Records," he said as he opened the door. "Thanks again for your help."

"Be sure to owl me, and let me know what you find out. Are you coming to dinner on Sunday?"

"Depends on who dies between now and then," he replied, only half joking. "See you, Nym, say hi to your Mum and Dad for me, yeah?"

"Bye, Draco, take care of yourself, okay? Three square meals and all of that."

Draco navigated his way through the maze of cubicles, making sure to give one last smirk to Potter and Weasley as he passed them on his way to the lifts.

He spent the rest of the day going through Ministry records (a task that, unbelievably, is actually more boring than it sounds). Because of his Level Three access, he was allowed to take the records home with him. The librarian eyed him carefully as she handed him a book that would show him whatever information he wanted, to which he had been allowed access. All he had to do was speak the parameters of his search into the book and it would show those records to him. Draco tried to hide the surge of frustration that welled up inside him. Having had this book in the first place would have helped him greatly. He took the book, practically ran to the Apparition point, and went home.

Seconds after he arrived in his living room, there was a knock at his door. He threw the book on his couch and went to answer it.

Joe stood on his doorstep looking furious. "Why'd you turn off your phone," he walked past Draco into the flat. "I've been trying to reach you all day, don't you know - are you wearing a dress?" He was looking at Draco's robes with a slightly worried expression on his face.

"Yeah I've been trying to lure our killer to come after me," Draco replied sarcastically. He laughed at the look Joe gave him. "These are robes, I had to go to the Ministry of Magic and alert them of the situation. It'd have been pointless to keep my mobile on, there's too much interference, down there."

"So wizards wear that?"

"Yes Joe, we wear robes."

"Oh," he looked away, trying not to laugh.

Draco ignored him. "Make yourself at home; I'm going to go change."

"Maybe a short sequined number, you know, something to show off those legs," he laughed.

Draco gave Joe the V-sign as he walked into his bedroom, and changed into jeans and a T-shirt. He came back into his living room. "So what's up?" he asked pulling two beers out of his refrigerator. He tossed one to Joe, who placed it on the table.

"There's been another one."

Draco, who had been about to take a sip of his beer, stopped. "So soon?"

"Yeah, Welling wants to see you, tonight if possible."

Draco grabbed his camera from the table. "Tell him to meet us at the scene, I want to get out there right away."

"We can't, she's in Virginia."

Draco stopped mid-stride and turned around. "As in America?"

Joe nodded, "As in America."

Four hours later, Draco sat at his desk in his flat writing letters. First to Tonks, informing her of the situation, then to his Aunt and Uncle, telling them of his temporary relocation to America and apologizing because he was going to miss Sunday dinner again. He transfigured both letters into paper airplanes, and sent them to their respective destinations. His Eagle owl had died several years ago and he had never bothered to replace her. The only wizards he ever communicated with were his aunt and uncle and they had a telephone. It was easier to just use that, although tonight he didn't feel like talking to them. He looked at his watch: it was 10:15; Jude should be home by now. He picked up his mobile and dialed the international call.

Judicarra was his favorite cousin… more like a sister, really. It was she, more than anyone else, who was responsible for his transformation into a 'decent human being,' as she put it. He never knew how she had been able to pull that off. It certainly wasn't magic, as she was a Squib, yet it often seemed magical. Although, in reality, it had taken much, much longer, when he looked back, it felt like one day he was sitting alone in his room, wishing he were anywhere else (even Azkaban); the next day he was accepting her pity invitation to the cinema with her Muggle friends where she was somehow able to make him feel like a complete loser for ever thinking he was in any way better than they were; and the day after that he was inviting _them_ out because he genuinely wanted to spend time with them. That was the one silver lining about his indefinite trip to America: she lived there with her Muggle husband, Tom, their daughter Samantha, and their son Kevin, whom he had yet to meet. He was quite looking forward to seeing them again; the only problem was that they didn't know he was coming.

The phone rang several times before someone picked up. "Hello?" said a young voice with a mixture of English and American accents.

"Hello?" said Draco. "May I please speak to your Mum?"

"Yes" was her reply. Draco pulled the receiver from his ear as the little girl screamed into it, "MUM!"

There was a click as Jude picked up the phone. "Thanks, Sam. Go wash up for supper." He heard the sound of running footsteps as she said, "Hello?"

"Jude! How are you?"

"Draco? How are you? It's so good to hear from you. Leave Kevin alone Sam, I've just bathed him. How's London? And shame on you for missing dinner. Is that any way to treat Mum and Dad, I ask you?"

Draco smiled, "You heard about that, then?"

"Yes, Mum was very upset. She had a date all set to meet you, too."

"Oh, well now I'm extra sorry for missing it," he said sarcastically.

She laughed, "I can tell." She chatted on about her family and work for a while, before Draco had a chance to tell her the reason for his call.

"Look, I'm sorry for the short notice, but I'll be in the DC area for a while, starting tomorrow, actually."

"Is everything all right?"

"The bastard I've been after has moved on to DC. I was hoping I could stay with you for a couple of nights, until I get situated with a flat."

"Sure, Draco, whatever you need."

"Thanks, Jude. You're fantastic." He gave her his flight information and hung up.

He had just finished packing when there was a tapping at the window. He opened it and three owls flew in. The first was a letter from Tonks, giving him the name of the head of Aurors in the US Department of Magic, Michael Fletcher, and his shiny new Aurors badge. The other two carried a package between them. It was from his Aunt, and it contained presents for her grandchildren, which he now had to find a way to fit into his already over-stuffed suitcase. He yawned as he went around his apartment, preparing for his long trip the following morning. It was 1:30 in the morning before he actually got to bed. Seven hours later, he was on a plane, bound for America.

* * *

The searchable book was blatantly stolen from season 5 of Angel. I'm not sorry and I'd do it again.

The Celsius temps translate to Fahrenheit as approximately 10 degrees, 30 degrees, and 15 degrees.

A big thank you to Kazfeist for betaing this monster of a fic. And thanks to you for reading.


	3. Because of Harry

Disclaimer: All HP characters belong to JK Rowling. The story is mine, but even that isn't very original. 

Thank you for reviewing, AuntAnnie. I appreciate it.

Here is Ginny's back story, I hope you like it.

* * *

Ginny 

Ginny sat down on the back steps of the Burrow and sighed. She loved her family and every time she came back to visit for the first few days she was determined to move back to England and transfer to St. Mungo's. Then slowly the realization that she'd have to exchange the freedoms of independence for familial closeness became evident. As a young woman, this seemed like an unfair trade, one that she wasn't willing to make. But the older she became, the closer she was to making it, and she'd never been closer to it than on this trip. Even so, with one day left of her visit back home, she was planning on going back to her life in the US and putting off her decision for another time.

It was rare for her to come home in the spring like this. But it wasn't often that Ron and Hermione, after years of trying, had had their first child, a cute little tyke named Harry, of course. She smiled, thinking about his cute little nose and hands, and at the indignation Hermione was experiencing once she'd found out that all the books she had read hadn't adequately prepared her for the real thing. A sharp wind whipped through the garden and Ginny wrapped her coat around herself more tightly. Thankfully, the snow that had plagued London hadn't affected the people of Ottery St Catchpole, but it was still cold. She wished she had a cup of tea, but not enough to go inside and get one.

The back door opened and Harry, the elder, stepped out and sat next to her with a groan. "I think I'm getting old," he said as he handed her a mug of tea.

She took it gratefully. "You read my mind," she said as she took a sip.

"Well I'm not _that_ old."

She giggled, "I meant about the tea. Besides you can't be old, you're only a year older than me and I'm not ready to be old yet."

Harry gave a fake pensive look as though he were seriously considering her logic. "Fair enough," he said grinning into his tea. "When are you heading back?"

"Tomorrow. My flight leaves at noon. I wish I could stay longer, though."

"That reminds me of the ulterior motive I had for coming out here," he said and Ginny braced for what, at sometime or another, all her family had been sent to talk to her about. "Your mum sent me to convince you to move back to England."

"I was wondering when you'd be recruited for that task," she said, surprised at herself for finding it more amusing than annoying, it was still a little annoying, though. She put her head in her hands and gave a little scream, but when she looked up she smiled at him. "Bill and Charlie never went through this," she said, in a small bid for sympathy.

"Bill and Charlie aren't their youngest child and only daughter," he said wisely.

She nodded somewhat reluctantly. "Good point," she conceded.

"Well, you can tell Mum-" she raised her voice and directed it to the house. Inside she could see her mother cooking dinner, except that the carrots were now being sliced onto the floor instead of into the pot. –"That I've officially started to think about it but that the soonest it could happen is next year."

Molly ran out of the house. "Do you mean that?"

"I've been thinking about moving back here-" she was interrupted by her mother hugging her. "-But I haven't made a decision yet," she finished into her mother's shoulder. She stood back from Molly. "I like my life in DC, Mum, it would be hard to leave it.

"I know, Dear. We'll talk about it later." She gave her only daughter another hug and then went back into the house. "Dinner's in an hour," she said over her shoulder. "Don't be late."

Ginny looked back at Harry who had done his best to give them privacy during their moment, but hadn't left the area. "Thanks for being upfront about this, anyway."

He shrugged. "Subtlety was never my strong suit."

It started to flurry and the woods behind the house suddenly seemed very appealing. "Wanna take a walk?" she asked gesturing to the woods.

Harry looked at his watch. "Sure, Kim won't be here for another half hour."

They tromped through the woods in relative silence and soon found themselves in the clearing that had hosted any number of pick up Quidditch matches over the years.

"Do you still fly?" she asked, turning to face him.

"Not as often as I would like," he answered truthfully. "We're understaffed right now so I've been working extra hours. The rest of the time I'm with Kim and Lily."

Ginny nodded.

"Every so often Ron and I get together for a pickup match, though," he added, as an afterthought.

"I haven't flown in _ages_; I miss it," she said looking up at the sky.

"When you move back you should join us sometime," he said simply, as they turned to head back to the house.

"_If_ I move back, you mean."

He stopped and made her look at him. "I mean when." Then he grinned and messed up her hair. They raced back to the house together.

* * *

If you asked Ginevra Weasley how she had come to be practicing medicine in Washington, DC, she'd probably tell you all about how much she loved helping people, and about the beauty of the US capital; how medicine was her calling, and any number of other sugary statements you'd expect from someone who'd devoted their life to medicine. Or she might joke about the high crime rates meaning never wanting for patients. If you asked her when she was feeling truthful, or a little drunk, however, she'd tell you it was because of Harry Potter. 

She couldn't help wanting to help him. After learning about the Philosopher's Stone, by eavesdropping on her parents, she wished with all her heart that she could fix his wounds and make him all better. If she'd been there, he would have been awake in time to win the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor, she was sure of it. And as everyone carried him on their shoulders he would yell, "Stop! I'm only here because of Ginny, she deserves this the most!" Then he would've walked over to her, and kissed her hand while everyone cheered for her. She knew that Harry would have let her ride his broom, because he wasn't like her git brothers, she was sure of that. At least she was until she came down to breakfast one morning in August to find him sitting at the table eating toast. Imagine, if you will, coming down the stairs, your hair a mess, and in your oldest, dingiest nightgown, to find the person you've been fantasizing about for a whole year sitting at your table, calm as can be, eating toast! Well, she can hardly be blamed for running back to the safety of her bedroom, nor for acting a bit awkward around him for, well, a long time after that.

Since she couldn't trust herself to behave normally around him, she settled for watching him from a distance. Like that time she saw him get bitten by a garden gnome, from her bedroom window. A garden gnome that was most certainly rabid. She'd have to sit by him and nurse him back to health, and entertain him by telling him stories. Then he would clutch her hand, look into her eyes and tell her that he owed her his life, and he was hers forever. She would tell him that all she wanted was for him to lead a long and happy life, which he would then vow that he could never have without her. By the end of the year, he had saved her life. Oh, how she wanted to thank him and tell him that she would always be his, but her Gryffindor courage failed her and she said nothing.

The following year she was his most frequent visitor in the hospital wing, though he never knew it. She would sneak out and watch over him while he was unconscious, and she would unobtrusively watch from a corner when he was awake; he never saw her, but she liked to think she made a difference. During these vigils, she would also watch Madame Pomfrey. She became fascinated with the mediwitch's ability to fix seemingly any problem with which she was presented; whether it was that sixth-year Hufflepuff's acne, or fixing Harry after a bout with the Dementors. Suddenly she saw herself as Harry's personal healer, helping him become an International Quidditch star, because, in her twelve-year-old mind, those two things were connected. She started frequenting the hospital wing, even when he wasn't there, hoping for any tidbit of wisdom Madam Pomfrey was willing to impart to her. Madam Pomfrey, for her part, was fairly glad for the company. It wasn't often people came to the hospital wing by choice. She did her best to answer Ginny's questions and guide her as to the classes she would need to take, and excel in. All the professors soon saw an upturn in her grades, but no one more so than Professor Snape. Ginny had never tried very hard in her Potions classes - Professor Snape having never inspired her to excellence. Everything she had heard about him, from her brothers, had been confirmed on her first day at Hogwarts. However, once she learned that it mattered to her future she gave Potions a chance. Ginny was able to learn respect for the art of potion making, but she never learned to love it - it was too meticulous.

The next year she wasn't watching Harry anymore and she _knew_ she was going to be a healer, even if it was just so she'd be able to fix her own feet after another dance partner like Neville Longbottom. Once her gaze was removed from Harry, she started to notice other people's gazes focused on her. She had her first boyfriend by the end of that year. Michael, though a berk when his team lost at Quidditch, helped her gain her confidence around Harry. She was no longer capable of just watching him anymore, even if she were so inclined. Nope, keeping her mouth shut around Harry was no longer an option. So they talked, and even went on an adventure together; she would never think of them as "glamorous" again.

The next year, her O.W.L year, Madam Pomfrey let her officially aid her in the hospital wing. Between this, studying for her exams, and Quidditch, she had less and less time for Dean Thomas, and their relationship suffered for it. Harry almost died, once again. However, this time she was there, by Madam Pomfrey's side, assisting her in saving him. It was nothing like she had imagined when she was a little girl. Aside from being genuinely scared for his safety, there were no declarations of love and devotion; he never even knew she was there. And, while she had always thought she was over him, it wasn't until her childhood fantasies had been crushed that she really _knew_ it. There was no future for her with Harry Potter. She wasn't even sad. It was just the truth. There was no faulting him, and she didn't. So you can imagine how dismayed she was when it seemed, to her, that all he did that summer was watch her. She was finally, once and for all, over him and he was just now noticing her! She knew he was trying to be discreet about it and she did her best to ignore it, until it started to affect his Quidditch practices. For the good of the team she decided to confront him about it; he asked her to Hogsmeade and she accepted (much to her surprise). After that they became a couple. She was never entirely sure how that part happened, but she was okay with it when it did; Harry was a nice guy and handsome. It wasn't difficult to find those old dreams again. He was her first crush and her first… well her first; by the lake, several days before he would face Voldemort for the last time, not that they knew that when it happened.

Later, experts would count the final two battles as the most important of the entire war. Whenever Ginny had pictured Harry going up against Voldemort, she always assumed that she would be in the middle of the action, by his side the whole way, with Ron and Hermione. She should have known that her place would be in the Hospital Wing.

The day before the battle of Hogwarts, the last battle of the war, was the battle of Hogsmeade. There were numerous casualties, especially among the students and faculty, who inundated the Hogwarts Medical Wing. Among them was Albus Dumbledore. Less than twenty-four hours after his incapacitation, Voldemort and his Death Eaters had invaded the school.

The main fighting took place on two fronts - one was in the Great Hall, where Harry squared off with Voldemort; the other was at the Hospital Wing, where Ginny, and any patient who was conscious, fought to protect their Headmaster. Using the beds as barricades, they hurled hexes and bottles of potions at the attackers, and were able to hold the wing long enough for Aurors to come and join the fight from the other side. The victory was quick but not without casualties; most of the students fighting were third and fourth years, and they hadn't all made it through to the end.

This time, as she worked tirelessly to mend Harry's wounds, he saw her and he knew she had helped to save his life. As she sat with him while he was recovering he took her hand, looked deeply into her eyes and she braced herself for the words she had wanted to hear since she'd met him. She didn't give him the chance. He'd gotten as far as "Ginny I l-" when she put a finger to his lips and told him to get some rest. She smoothed his covers, kissed his forehead, and left the room as calmly as possible. She'd never had a panic attack before. They weren't pleasant events. She didn't love him. The possibility had never occurred to her, but the fact that she hadn't planned for it didn't make it any less true. How could she break up with the hero of the wizarding world a day after his triumph? The answer was: she didn't.

Ginny was given a commendation for her role in The Battle of Hogwarts, and she and Harry became somewhat of a celebrity couple; the triumphant hero visited her on Hogsmeade weekends, and they would smile for the cameras and hold hands as they walked together. He was going to marry her, she knew it, but she also knew that he didn't want to. Because of all the years she had known him, she could read him like a book. He had fulfilled his destiny and was letting himself drift down the path that seemed to lead to a 'happily ever after'. She_knew_ this the same way she knew that her crush was over, or that she knew she was going to be a Healer. In later years, she opened herself up to the possibility that she had been projecting her own emotions onto Harry, but it amounted to the same thing. She cried for her lost childhood dreams on the night that they ended it, but not for her lost future.

When it came time to apply for schools, she surprised everyone, except perhaps her father, by deciding to live with Muggles for four years in New York City. She was determined and no one could stop her. NYU offered the premiere program, for wizard / Muggle relations, of anywhere in the world. Ironically she was now only allowed to use magic on her school holidays. Living without magic was the hardest thing she had ever done, but she somehow made it through. Harry gave her one last chance to choose the life he was offering her, when she returned home during her first holiday, but she read relief in his eyes when she turned him down. They were destined to be friends and nothing more.

Ginny's initiation into Muggle medicine came during her sophomore year at NYU. She came down with appendicitis and was given emergency surgery. Even though she had been living with Muggles for over a year, she still thought of Muggle medicine as archaic and unclean. Therefore she was genuinely surprised when the stitches her father had wanted in her fourth year not only worked, but meant that she wouldn't have to drink any foul tasting potions to achieve the same effect; her dad would be proud. Of course there were still problems with it. Try as it might, Muggle morphine was no match for Madam Pomfrey's pain-blocking charm. The experience started her thinking of the possibilities that could arise from bringing Muggle influence into wizard medicine. She graduated with honors and immediately enrolled in John Hopkins' Healing Program, specializing in the unity between Muggle and wizard medicine.

Placement wasn't hard after graduation; she had her pick of any Muggle or wizard hospital she wanted. She decided to split her efforts between Creagor Memorial Wizard Hospital and Georgetown University Hospital. She enjoyed herself in that arrangement and kept it through her internships, residencies and employment; it was more convenient for her research. All in all, she'd have to say that her life had worked out pretty well, considering. Of late, though, she had started to wonder what her life would have been had she chosen a different path.

She boarded her return flight with mixed feelings the next day. She was happy to get back and excited to see her friends again. But she was also sad to leave her family. She'd just met one more nephew whose development she was likely to miss, and who wouldn't know her when she visited again. It was confusing, to say the least. She soon gave up trying to sort out her feelings and settled down to watch the movie.

* * *

A big thank you to Kazfeist for betaing this monster of a fic. And thank _you_ for reading.

* * *


	4. Red, White, and Black and Blue

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I'm sorry for the long wait, hopefully this chapter will make up for it.

* * *

He pulled his car off the road and opened the hood

He pulled his car off the road and opened the hood. There was nothing wrong with it, currently, but that was about to change. He took out his wand and tapped it against the radiator. Steam immediately began to erupt from his engine. This was going to be fun. He hadn't been fishing in a long time. He had been watching his catch for some time now and knew that she would stop to lend a helping hand to a stranger in need. As her headlights rounded a curve, he sat on his front bumper and put his head in between his hands. She pulled over, and he hid a smile; he loved being right.

"Car trouble?" she asked.

"My cell phone is dead," he replied, getting up and flashing a smile. "It's my kid's birthday tonight, do you mind if I borrow yours? I don't want him to think that I'm letting him down again."

Her face softened. "Sure you can," she said as she leaned into her car to retrieve her purse.

She stood back up, her phone in her hand. "I have a Triple A card if you-"

"Stupefy," he incanted, and she fell unconscious to his feet. He grinned in anticipation, and then dragged her to the passenger seat of her minivan. He got in himself. With a flick of his wand, he cleared his footprints and fixed his car as he drove to a more secluded spot.

Draco

Draco stepped off the plane and stretched. It had been a long and turbulent flight. Since the events of 9/11, overseas Apparition was severely restricted by the States, and was not permitted at all within the nation's capital. Even Nym would have been hard pressed to get him permission to Apparate with less than a day's notice. And, although Draco was anxious to get out there, he was glad for the slowness of air travel, it gave him time to go over his files and collect his thoughts.

The fact that the killer had moved on to a different country radically changed things. Typically, serial killers, like him, were very dependent on location. He'd only just noticed that the parks chosen for each crime were arranged in a star around the Tower, of all places. The precisely chosen locations spoke to his need to control, and to his notions of being an artist. Why change canvases now?

After making his way through customs and gathering his luggage, he walked into the main terminal of Dulles International Airport, and looked around for his ride. His boss at the Yard, Stephen Welling, was supposed to have arranged a ride to the crime scene with the FBI. He soon spotted a young woman in a smart business suit holding a sign with his name on it. She was looking at her watch and bore an expression on her face that clearly said she had better things to be doing than collecting him from the airport. He took a moment to catalogue her. She looked to be in her middle twenties. Her brown hair was pulled back into a loose bun. He recognized the look of disgust mixed with determination and a little excitement on her face. She had just come from the crime scene; and possibly this was her first time leading an investigation? He'd worn that expression himself before. She wore no wedding or engagement ring on her left hand but he saw, from the diamond earrings she wore, that she was likely in a fairly committed relationship. She gave the impression of one who was very serious about her work, which was just fine by him. He walked over to her and cleared his throat. She looked up at him.

"Draco Malfoy?" she asked, giving him the same once over he had just given her.

"Yes," he said holding out his hand.

She shook it. "I'm Special Agent Rebecca Salinger." She took one of his bags and started walking toward the parking garage. "We have a while before we get to the scene, if you'd like to fill me in on what you know."

"Actually, I'm curious as to what you already know."

She glanced back at him and smiled slightly. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. He might have to revise his impression to include a sense of humor. "Not at all," he chuckled. "But, there's no sense in repeating myself, is there?"

She nodded.

They got to the car and she handed him a file before pulling out of her parking spot and heading out of the garage. When they were on the highway, she began. "Suspect is likely a Caucasian male in his late thirties to middle forties. He is good enough at blending in and seeming normal that his victim was not taken under duress.

"She was a prostitute?" he asked, while flipping through the files.

She glanced over to him. "She was a soccer mom."

Draco looked up surprised. He had not only changed his location but also his intended victims. Rebecca continued, "The extremity of the violence suggests an anger toward his victim that likely stems from childhood abuses. He is also highly adept at clearing crime scenes of evidence, indicating a background in criminal studies and medical forensics. He seems to know exactly what we look for in physical evidence," she concluded.

Draco was nodding. "Excellent," he said. "You've done a fantastic job, Agent Salinger."

"Rebecca," she corrected.

"You'll also find that the suspect has a number of fetishes. He cuts the hair of his victims and likely finds sexual thrill in their deaths."

"As do most serial killers," she said, loudly enough that he heard her clearly but quietly enough that he wasn't sure if she meant him to.

He addressed her anyway. "Yes, but I believe that it is the moment of death that allows this particular serial killer his sexual release. He is likely incapable of any normal sexual activity, and that has filled him with rage towards women. He also fancies himself an artist. We found a rose laying next to the body of our most recent victim in England. He likely has photographs of his victims, which he may be inclined to paint. The locations of the kills were very symmetrical. They made a star shape with the Tower of London bisecting it in the middle. I don't think Washington has an equivalent to the Tower, so he's likely chosen another location to work around. How far from the White House was the victim found?"

She cleared her throat, and he could see her reassessing her opinion of him. "About four miles," she said.

He nodded. "He'll likely keep his kills close to that distance from the White House, assuming that is the intended focal point of his 'masterpiece'..."

_Which it likely isn't, _he thought.

..."He plans ahead, this one. I intend to catch him before he gets the chance to make a more complicated design.

Rebecca nodded in response; absorbing the new information he'd given her about the murderer.

Draco looked out the window; it had started to rain. There wasn't going to be much to see at the crime scene. He caught his reflection in the glass. No wonder she seemed surprised that he was intelligent. His suit was rumpled, his hair was messy, and his five O'clock shadow had started early. He counted forward on his fingers. Well maybe it hadn't. The steady movement of the windscreen wipers made his eyes droop. He rubbed them vigorously and shook his head trying to wake up.

Rebecca looked over at him. "Gonna be a long day for you, huh?"

He stifled a yawn. "It already has been. I've had longer though."

She nodded in understanding. "We'll be there in a couple of minutes."

Draco recognized the familiar sites of the crime scene when they were still a good distance away. Things were as he expected them to be, except for one detail. "This is a grave yard," he said as she pulled into a clearing that was roped off by police tape.

"This is Arlington National Cemetery," Rebecca said, before she stepped out of the car and opened her umbrella.

Draco pulled the collar up on his overcoat, and stepped into the rain.

"There's not much to see, I'm afraid," she said as she walked over and shared her umbrella with him. They ducked under the police tape. Forensics specialists were going over the area looking for clues. Draco knew they weren't going to find any. Rebecca started a tour. "We found the body over there," she said pointing to a cluster of Forensics specialists, near a small grove of trees. "She was completely naked, and in an unnatural position."

Draco nodded as he stepped out from under the umbrella and walked the parameter of the scene, taking it all in.

Rebecca continued. "The preliminary report came back this morning. She was Kristen Adams of Arlington, wife and mother of two. She was reported missing a few weeks ago.

"How long exactly?" he asked looking back at her.

She fumbled as she tried to flip through her note pad and keep the umbrella over her head. "The report was made to the local police seventeen days ago; she had been missing for twenty-four hours before that."

Draco calculated in his head. That gave him approximately three weeks in between his kills, which meant he'd moved his timetable up some. "That's soon for him, by our best estimates his previous kills were approximately six to eight weeks apart. It's only been three." He walked back under her umbrella. "May I see her?" he asked.

"Of course, I'll take you there now." They got back into the car. Draco shivered; he probably shouldn't have walked in the rain like that. It woke him up, at least. Rebecca wordlessly turned on the heat. They drove in silence for several minutes before she asked, "You said something about a rose?"

Draco started from his thoughts. "The most recent victim, in London, was found in a provocative position with a red rose laid against her."

"We didn't find anything like that."

"Nor had we, previously, before Jane Doe." He briefly wondered if they'd managed to ID the girl yet, and reminded himself that he needed to check in with Joe before it became too late in London. "I believe that the unnaturally cold weather we've been having this spring preserved it before it was"- he briefly paused to think of a word that would mean more or less the same thing as "de-transfigured" –"destroyed as the others most likely were."

"Maybe they weren't present at the other scenes," she said simply.

Draco shook his head. "I don't think so, the last scene made a kind of sense that the others didn't. The rose was the missing element. I don't think it was a fluke. He's likely been fantasizing about these kills for a long time. The rose fits the fantasy.

She looked doubtful but decided to change the subject rather than press the issue just then. "Where are you staying?" she asked, conversationally.

"With a cousin of mine until I can find a flat to rent," he answered.

"You're staying, then?" she asked almost nonchalantly.

"For as long as he does," he said. And then, because he couldn't help himself, he added, "Is that a problem?"

"Not if you know your place in the system. I was given to understand that you were here to share information as a consultant," she said, attempting to be intimidating.

Draco's jaw tightened. He understood her desire to remain in control of her investigation but had little interest in protecting her feelings on the matter. Now was not the time for her to defend her territory. "_I_ was given to understand that I was here to catch a murderer and to extradite him to England where he will stand trial for his crimes." He could see regret for her words flash into her eyes, as he continued to address her. "I'm not here to step on anyone's toes, but I've been in this guy's head for almost a year now, and I am the best chance we have of catching him. Like it or not, I'm working here as an agent of _your_ ministry as well as mine. If you check with your boss, I think you'll find that I have the power to run this investigation, if I so choose." He took a deep breath and relaxed a little in his seat. "For now, I'm content to keep you in charge."

She blushed as she turned a corner into a parking lot. They had arrived at their destination. "You'll find the morgue on sub-basement two," she said stiffly. "Take a left; I have to make a couple of calls."

_I'll bet you do_.

"I'll meet you down there shortly." She walked off dialing her mobile, no doubt confirming what he told her.

"Thank you, " he said, as he started inside to find the lift.

He managed to find the morgue with a minimal amount of wrong turns. He knocked briefly on the door and walked in. An older man in his late forties or early fifties looked up from the corpse he had his hands in. "May I help you?' he asked.

"I'm Draco Malfoy, I'm here to see Kristen Adams."

"You know she's dead right?" he asked as he removed his gloves and made a note on his clipboard. Draco gave him an incredulous look. "I'm just kidding," he added. "That's just a little morgue humor."

"Right. Sorry. Jet lag," Draco excused himself. "May I see her?"

"Do you have clearance?"

It was just then that Draco realized that in amongst all of the files that Rebecca had given him, he had not received any security passes or credentials. He pulled out his Scotland Yard ID and gave it to the coroner. "I'm currently on loan from England until we find our criminal. Agent Salinger should be along shortly with my FBI commission."

The Coroner nodded. "They mentioned that they were bringing outside help on this one. I had to be sure, you know? The press have been all over this one. They're already calling him 'The Magician.'" He walked over to one of the drawers and opened it. "I hope you have some secret strategy for this case, because you aren't going to solve it forensically. There was nothing on her and I mean _nothing_. No stray hairs, no finger prints, no semen, no _blood_ even, not even _hers_." He handed Draco some latex gloves.

Draco nodded as he pulled on the gloves. "It's a pretty shitty MO, isn't it?" He snapped a few pictures and probed the body looking for evidence of magic spells, aside from the absolute faintest cleaning charm there was nothing. He couldn't even tell which spell it had been. Not that he knew very many of them in the first place.

"Got that right," the coroner replied. "Cause of death was blood loss due to a severed carotid."

Draco nodded as he snapped a few more pictures. He noted that this victim's throat had been more gently cut than the last one's was, and stepped back from the body, pulling off his gloves. "Thank you very much, err-"

"Folks round here call me Smithy." He closed and relocked the drawer before he removed his gloves and held out his hand. Draco shook it.

"Thanks Smithy. Where's the best place to get mobile reception around here?"

"Up a couple of levels. Ground floor," Smithy said as he put on a new pair of gloves and went back to the body he was working on before he was interrupted.

"Will you tell Agent Salinger that I'll be upstairs, if she comes by?"

"Sure thing." He turned on the radio and "Ooh La La" by The Faces rang through the speakers. Smithy sang along with the chorus, "I wish that I knew what I know now.."

"Thanks again," said Draco as he walked back to the lift.

He opened his mobile. The clock had automatically adjusted itself to his new time zone. It was 3 PM. He stepped outside and dialed his partner. Joe answered on the third ring.

"This is Krellor." It sounded like he was eating, which reminded Draco that he was hungry.

"Joe, it's Draco. Any news on the Jane Doe?"

"Not yet, it's been quiet here. How are things Stateside?"

"He's moved up from streetwalkers to young mothers, as well as his timeframe. There's nothing else to report. I have a feeling I'm going to be here for a while." He spotted Rebecca heading towards him; she didn't look too happy. "There's also been some hostility among the natives."

Joe chuckled. "You managed to brass them off, already?" he asked. "That's got to be a record for you, eh?"

Draco smiled slightly. "Actually that's not even close to my record."

"Listen mate," Joe said more soberly. "It looks like they're closing things down on this end. They've started reassigning people. The only loose end is finding Jane's identity. The case is officially cold here."

Draco drew a deep breath. "I can't say I'm terribly surprised. I was hoping for some more friendly support, though." Rebecca was now standing in front of him. "I've got to go mate, but I'll be sure to keep you in the loop."

"I appreciate that. Hang in there, and be sure to bring me back a tee-shirt, yeah?"

Draco smiled. "Sure thing. Bye." He hung up the phone and looked at the woman who was now, for all intents and purposes, his new partner. "Well?"

She cleared her throat but her jaw was tense as she apologized for her earlier behavior. Adding a reluctant "sir" at the end of it all.

Though he was exasperated, Draco tried a new tactic. He forced himself to smile and said, "I'm sorry for speaking to you like that. You really needn't worry, though. I think you'll find that I loathe paperwork and am apt to avoid it at all costs."

"I didn't think about that part of it," she added reluctantly.

"Too late now. Is there any chance of stopping for a bite to eat before continuing the tour?"

"Sure," she said and led him back to her car.

After a brief lunch, he got her to drop him off at the Department of Magic, claiming it as the government building in which his cousin worked. He walked into the white-columned building and through the metal detectors, wondering, vaguely, if he had the right building. Everything had a very Muggle look to it. He walked over to the office listing to see if Michael Fletcher was on it; he wasn't. Draco ran his hand through his hair and frowned. He looked around for some clue as to where he should go.

He was genuinely surprised when he saw Rebecca walking towards him with purpose. "I thought there was something different about you," she said, once she was within speaking distance. He gaped at her. "No one told you where to go, did they?" she asked, only slightly condescendingly. He still was staring at her in shock. She looked annoyed, and he made himself speak.

"You're a witch," he said at last.

She shook her head. "No. Troy, my boyfriend, is a wizard, and I work as a liaison between the FBI and the DoM when one is needed."

Draco nodded, in response. He was having a difficult time recovering from his shock. "Nice to meet you again, Rebecca," he said flatly. She shook his out stretched hand. "Would you mind telling me where the bloody visitor's entrance is?"

She smiled slightly, and led him to the elevators. "They told me I'd be meeting with someone from the Ministry of Magic, and from Scotland Yard, today, but they failed to mention that they were going to be the same person," she said as her badge was scanned, and a new set of controls appeared. She pressed a button and the elevator started to move, first to the right, and then down.

The lift doors opened and Draco was greeted with the familiar sight of a large marble hall lined with fireplaces and the constant stream of wizards and witches flashing in and out of them. Rebecca led him through a maze of corridors to a section marked Division of Enforcement. He held the glass door open for her and she preceded him into the reception room.

"Hello, Janice," said Rebecca, pleasantly.

"Agent Salinger," was the much more formal reply of the reception witch.

Rebecca sighed and introduced Draco. The reception witch nodded - somewhat snottily, Draco thought.

He cleared his throat. "I have an appointment with Michael Fletcher," he said.

Janice tapped her wand against the monitor, on her desk, checking Fletcher's schedule. She looked at him and spoke, "Director Fletcher is running behind schedule; please have a seat and he will be with you as soon as he can."

"Thanks," said Draco and he and Rebecca sat in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs.

She leaned closer to him. "Tell me more about our killer; he's a wizard isn't he?"

Draco nodded. "Yes he is. But the only magic he uses is to clean up after himself, and for taking his trophies." For a reason that he couldn't explain he leaned closer and said, quietly, "I have a theory, that I've never told anyone about, as it's only a feeling. But, I think that the prostitutes that were killed in England were actually stand-ins for the true objects of his rage. If that is true, then Kristen Adams means a remarkable, and disturbing, step forward for him."

Rebecca thought about what he said for a while, and then she said, "That would make sense."

Draco smiled slightly, and leaned back in his chair. After an absurdly long wait, Janice called his name and told him to go into Director Fletcher's office.

Draco rapped politely on the door as he walked into the spacious office. Michael Fletcher stood up behind his desk and offered Draco his hand, which Draco shook. He was a tall and broad man with dark hair that was speckled with grey at the temples. He looked to be in his mid-fifties and his work robes were impeccably tailored.

Draco was distinctly aware of his own rumpled suit and haggard appearance, but he tried to put it out of his mind as he sat in front of the head of the US Enforcers' Division.

Fletcher went straight to business. "Tell me what you know."

Draco explained the situation for another time, but it seemed to him that he was only being given half of the man's attention. When he concluded, there were no questions about the case or about Draco's opinions on the murderer. His listener was only interested in one thing.

"You work for Muggles," Fletcher said flatly. Draco knew everything he needed to know about Michael Fletcher based on the one statement.

"Yes," Draco confirmed.

"And you've met with the FBI," he still wasn't asking.

Draco nodded curtly. "Yes."

"And tell me, what do you think of our resident Muggle, Rebecca?" he asked.

"She seems competent."

"Hmm," Michael said noncommittally.

The formal, almost cold, reception that Janice gave Rebecca fell into place for him, and he admired her for making the most of what was clearly a negative work environment.

"Well," Fletcher said cheerfully as he closed Draco's file and handed it back to him. "I've arranged a task force for you." He motioned behind Draco, and three people who looked like interns walked in. None of them could have been older than twenty, and one of them was still dealing with an acne problem.

Fletcher was watching him closely for his reaction. Draco made sure that his face remained a mask of impassivity. If he hadn't been so mad, he probably would have found it funny. Draco stood up and introduced himself to the newcomers. He turned back to Fletcher and said, "If there's nothing else, I'd like to get to work." Draco saw a flash of disappointment almost cross the other man's face, and knew he had just won their invisible poker game.

Fletcher cleared his throat and spoke to the tallest one, "Simmons," he said. "Take Mister Malfoy to his office." Draco nodded to him and left the room. He matched Simmons' quick pace and followed him through another maze of corridors. The female of the group jogged to catch up with them.

"The whole division isn't like him," she said.

Draco glanced over at her. "Good," he said. "I'd hate to think everyone here is a bigoted arsehole."

They arrived at his tiny, new office. He placed his briefcase on the desk and bade everyone inside. "Right," he said. "First things first, what are your names?"

The young witch spoke first, "I'm Sarah Singer." She offered her hand, which Draco shook.

The tall one cleared his throat and said, "Bill Simmons." Draco shook his hand as well.

The third one looked to be the youngest of the lot. He was short, and had acne troubles. He introduced himself as Brian Garcia, as Draco shook his hand.

"Good to meet all of you. Meet me here tomorrow morning at 8:30 and we'll get started." He noticed their confused looks and said, "Some advice: This will be the last time you will be leaving at anything resembling a decent hour. Take it, and enjoy it." He walked out of the room and realized he had no clue where to go. He leaned back into his office and cleared this throat. "I don't suppose one of you could lead me back to the lobby, could you?" The three young Enforcers shared a smile and led him back to the front.

Rebecca stood up and joined him at the reception desk, where Janice wordlessly handed Draco a visitor's badge for the next day. He followed Rebecca out of the building, and to her car.

"How was it?" she asked once they were on the road.

Draco looked at her from his seat. "I think you know how it was," he said.

She sighed. "I guess I do. Michael Fletcher is a bigot, and his influence has started to rub off on the rest of the division. You should hear how he talks to me. I think he genuinely thinks that I'm mentally challenged."

"Is he a new addition to the division?" Draco asked, morbidly curious. Michael Fletcher was fast becoming the equivalent of a train wreck to Draco. He couldn't turn away. After all, there but for the grace of God... Draco could have easily been Fletcher, if not for the timely intervention of Albus Dumbledore.

"He stepped in as Interim Director after Jacob Henry stepped down due to illness. Technically, he's still the Interim Director, even though he's been in the position for over a year now."

"Does Troy work there?" asked Draco, thinking of the hell he must receive from his boss and co-workers for dating Rebecca, and that he must really love her to go through all of that.

"No, he's a Healer," she said.

"Is the wizarding medical community more open-minded?" he asked, utterly fascinated by American society, to which he had never given much, if any, thought before.

"Considerably. There's even been some promising work in bringing Muggle medicinal practices into wizarding medicine. Creagor Memorial is at the forefront of that research," she said, proudly.

He noted her ease in the use of wizard jargon and asked, "How long have you and Troy been together?"

"Five years," she said with a smile. "I've worked in my current position for the last four," she added, anticipating his next question. "What about you, why do you work with Muggles?"

Draco didn't answer her right away. On the surface it was a simple question. But the answer was far more complex and personal than he wanted to give someone he had only known for less than one day. However, not wanting to risk damaging the camaraderie that had developed between them since visiting the DoM, he gave her the most basic answer to the question. He said, "Because that's where I belong."

Sensing that it was a personal subject, she wisely said nothing.

He turned to her. "I know you aren't my chauffeur but would you be willing to make one more stop before taking me to my cousin's?"

"Sure," she said easily and without hesitation. "Troy's on the late shift tonight, and I have some time to kill."

It was late evening when she dropped him off at Jude's house, in Maryland. "It was nice meeting you, Rebecca. I look forward to working with you."

"You too," she said. "What time tomorrow?"

"I told the others that we were to meet at the DoM at 8:30, I want us to be there before them, and we should do some organizing first."

She sighed. "I'll pick you up at 6:30. Fair warning: I'm not a morning person."

Draco gave a half smile and dragged his suitcase to the front door and knocked.

It wasn't long before Jude answered the door, a toy truck in one hand and a laundry basket balanced against her hip.

"Draco!" she exclaimed. She hurriedly placed her burden on the floor and gave him a hug.

He returned it, lifting her off of the floor. He set her back down and looked at his favorite cousin who he hadn't seen in four years. She had aged, of course, but, like all of the women in her family, she had done so gracefully.

"You look great!" he said.

"You look terrible," she said simultaneously.

"Thanks," he grumbled. "You know, I _have_ been awake since one o'clock this morning, your time. And chasing after a dangerous murderer is very taxing, I'll have you know."

She grinned, and hugged him again.

Draco looked over to her husband, who had just entered the room, along with Samantha, who was in her pajamas. "Tom," he said, extending his hand to the man he had only met a handful of times before they moved to America.

"Hey Draco, how are ya?" he asked.

"I'm all right, all things considered." Draco responded.

Draco then turned his attention downward where a girl, who looked to be about eight, stood regarding him curiously. She had her mother's blonde hair but her father's everything else. He crouched down to her eye level and asked, "Do you remember me?" She shook her head. "I met you when you visited your grandparents in England." She didn't say anything. "Well, pick a hand" he offered his two fists to her face down. She thought for a moment and chose his left hand. He opened it and produced a lollypop that he had purchased from the duty free shop, earlier in the day. She grinned as she took it.

Jude frowned at him. "You can have that tomorrow, Sam. It's time for bed now."

"I'm not TIRED!" she said.

"Now, Sam."

"Five more minutes?" Sam bargained.

"You can stay up for ten more minutes, if, and only if, you go up stairs and get into bed this instant."

Draco recognized her "mom voice," the universal sound of finality. Samantha, also, apparently knew a good deal when she heard one, and went up stairs to go to bed.

"Get the book ready," said Tom. "I'll be up in a minute to tuck you in."

Jude looked up at Draco. "Come in and sit down," she said. "Are you hungry?"

"Famished."

"Well, come sit down and I'll fix you a plate." She led him to the spacious kitchen and started rummaging through the refrigerator. Chatting easily about work and family the entire time. Draco relaxed in his chair and did his best to listen to her, but he found his mind wandering back to his killer and his killer's change in victims. A chill ran down his spine as she placed a sandwich and a cup of tea in front of him.

He pushed the plate aside and looked at her seriously. "Listen Jude. The... person that I've been trying to catch isn't targeting prostitutes any longer. I want you to promise me to be careful, and watch out for strangers. I'd hate to lose you."

She patted his hand. "You don't need to worry about me. Eat your sandwich and go to bed, Mister 'I've been up since one o'clock this morning.'"

Draco let the subject drop, for the time being. There would be time discuss it later. Tom would likely help him broach the subject again. He made up his mind to talk to him and ate his sandwich.

That night Draco sat on his bed and sorted through the files that Michael Fletcher had given him. In amongst his newest credentials, and directions to the various fire exits located throughout the building, were the CVs of his new colleagues. They were, indeed, as young and inexperienced as he'd first guessed. But, they were anything but mediocre, and only one was a Muggle-born.

Bill Simmons graduated fifth in his class at the Enforcement Academy, and had shown promise in his first assignments as junior Enforcer. Fletcher noted some disciplinary issues, but didn't go into specifics. Draco made a note to ask Simmons, upfront, what the situation had been. He had little faith in Fletcher's ability to objectively judge a person's actions.

Sarah Singer also finished at the top of her class, but her first attempts at fieldwork hadn't seemed to work out for her. The report said that she'd made a misjudgment and allowed the perpetrator to escape her custody. Draco absorbed this knowledge and made a note to discuss it with her. Very likely she'll have developed a block and might choke under pressure if put on the spot. That could be problematic.

Brian Garcia, was only eighteen, and was also, it seemed, a genius. He had finished his secondary schooling at the age of fifteen, and graduated, at the very top of his class at the Academy, after only three years, instead of the standard four. This was his first assignment. He was the Muggle-born of the group; the sole reason that he had been placed with Draco, instead of being placed on the fast track to higher office.

Draco made a few more notes about things he needed to accomplish and closed the files. He double-checked his alarm before he turned out the light and sank into oblivion.

The next morning he woke, not to the sound of his alarm clock, but to the sound of a baby screaming for his mother. Draco missed the days when his teenage mind would have easily allowed him to hate the child for daring to interrupt his sleep. Still, he filed this away on his mental list of the pros and cons of having a child (never sleeping in again? Con), as he rolled over and tried to ignore the child's wails in favor of his last ten minutes of sleep. It was fruitless. Draco groaned as he struggled out of the bed. He flicked on the light and shielded his eyes against its brightness. It was going to be another long day.

He showered and dressed quickly, and made his way down stairs. Jude was sitting at the table mechanically spoon feeding Kevin his breakfast with one hand, and sipping a cup of tea with the other. She glanced up at him and smiled. "Good morning," she said with far more cheer than he could have mustered, given how tired he felt. It always took him a few nights to adjust to a new bed, and he hadn't slept as well as he would have liked.

He mumbled his own greeting to her and sat opposite to her at the table. She wordlessly poured him a cup of tea, which he took, gratefully.

"There's some bread on the counter, if you want to make toast," she said.

He glanced at the clock. It was 6:30. "No time for breakfast," he said. He looked longingly at his tea, his source of precious caffeine, which was too hot to drink. "I'll see you tonight," he said with a weary sigh, as he stood up. He kissed his cousin on the cheek, and patted her son on the head.

Rebecca was just pulling up as Draco stepped into the cool morning air. He got in the car and looked at his companion, who wordlessly began their drive into the city. She clearly wasn't in love with the hour, but she looked nice in her stylish work robes. "You're wearing robes," he said, surprised.

She checked her blind spot as she changed lanes and replied, "I usually do when I spend the day at the Department of Magic. I stand out less." She glanced over at him. "I see you _aren't_ wearing robes."

"I thought it'd annoy Fletcher, if I didn't."

She smiled wryly. "I didn't really like you, yesterday," she said, honestly.

Draco returned the smile. "Nor I, you," he said.

"I think this could work, though."

Draco saw a Starbucks, close to the entrance to the highway. He pointed at it. "Coffee," he directed. "I'll treat."

"Yes, sir."

With coffee in hand, they continued their commute. When they were safely stuck in traffic, she asked, "So how's this going to work?"

He took a sip of coffee and replied, "Today, we establish hierarchy and we research potential suspects."

"What is our hierarchy?" she asked, sounding a little nervous.

"I was thinking that at the DoE, it will be me, you, and then the others. And at the FBI, it will be you, me, and then the others. Will that work for you?"

"So the FBI will stay in the loop?" she asked. "I thought the DoE, would be taking full reign, since our perpetrator is a wizard."

"The FBI has its place in this investigation too," he said. "The victims are, after all, Muggles. I will fight to keep them involved, and I want you to lead that side of things."

"Thank you," she said. "For what it's worth, I _am _sorry if I was rude to you yesterday."

"Don't worry about it," he said. They spent the rest of the trip in comfortable silence.

There were very few people in the Enforcers' division when they arrived. It made a calmer and more relaxed atmosphere, for which Draco was very grateful. He was able to find his way back to his office, with a minimal amount of wrong turns.

"Nice closet," Rebecca said, sarcastically.

"Thank you."

He set his briefcase on his desk and pulled out his files as well as several bound copies of his profile of the killer that he had had made before he left the UK. He re-enlarged the template book that the librarian at the Ministry of Magic had given him and set it next to everything else. Finally he pulled out a list of record books that they would need to search for possible matches. He handed it to Rebecca. "Will you please take this to the record keepers and ask them to bring this list of books over in stacks of ten, please?" he asked.

She took the roll of parchment and left the room. Draco sat in his chair and looked at his four blank walls. He would need to bring in some artwork, maybe a fern would liven the place up a bit. _Until it died from lack of sunlight_, he thought a little bitterly. Rebecca was back sooner than he expected, with an intern, and a stack of books in tow. She also carried two mugs of coffee, and handed one them to Draco at the same time dismissing the intern, who was, unless he was mistaken, a little bit afraid of her. He was beginning to respect her efficiency and was glad that his original assessment of her seemed to be correct. A rap at the door signaled the arrival of the rest of his new team.

He bade them sit down, and got straight to work. He passed out the reports he had set out earlier. "These are the specs for our killer," he said. "Learn them. Live them. Love them." He floated in the stack of books that were left outside the door by the intern. "These are the first group of records we will sort through looking for possible matches." The looks of disappointment and horror that crossed their faces went unaddressed, but not unnoticed. "And these..." He tossed each of them a small box, the result of his and Rebecca's extra stop the evening before. "... Are your brand new mobile phones." He saw Rebecca smirk into her coffee at the confused looks Bill and Sarah wore. He continued his speech uninterrupted. "Read the instruction manual and always keep them on. Do you understand?" Everyone nodded. "Good," he said, taking a book off of the top of the stack and sitting in his desk chair. "Let's get started."

* * *

Thanks to Kazfeist for being an awesome beta, and for coming up with "Devision of Enforcement."

Thank you for reading :)


	5. Second First Impressions

Disclaimer: All HP characters belong to JK Rowling. The story is mine, but even that isn't very original.

Notes: I'm so sorry for such a long wait, but I hope this chapter will make up for it. It's a bit longer and (more importantly) they meet. Enjoy.

* * *

The voices and colors swirled around him; through him. A woman yelling, a child screaming, the sound of glass breaking, and the color red. Robert Marlow woke with a gasp. Beads of sweat graced his brow, and he had a hunger inside of him. He gave a feral smile. It was time to hunt.

The June evening was hot, and full of people and choices. He strolled through the city, letting faces and voices wash through him, until one caught his attention. She was leaving a movie theatre, clinging to the arm of her husband. "I'm just going to call and check on the kids," she said. The husband smiled and kissed her. Robert cringed at the sight of it.

_"You're evil, Bobby! Have to get the devil out of you! I saw you looking at that girl, Bobby. She's filthy! Jesus hates sinners. She's a sinner, Bobby! You're a sinner, too._" His mother's voice spoke in his head.

Without any further thought he Accio'ed her wallet and walked away, looking through his new acquisition. There were pictures galore; she was beautiful, and had a lovely family. Bitch! He would soon make her cry. He smiled as he looked at her driver's license. "I'll see you soon 'Alice Meyers, 111 Chestnut Hill Rd, North Potomac, Maryland.'" He was almost giddy with excitement, as he pocketed her driver's license and threw her wallet into a storm drain. His mind raced with his new plans. This was going to be fun.

* * * * *

Ginny

The sound of violin music mixed with the din of voices and the clinking of silverware and glasses. Everyone seemed to be having a great time. Oh, how Ginny wished she were one of them. She turned back to her date and tried not to yawn. He hadn't stopped talking since they'd sat down, and absolutely none of what he had said had been interesting. "... and ever since then, I haven't cared for spinach." He chuckled, as though he had just said something amusing.

"Uh huh," Ginny replied, absently. She took a bite of salad, and wondered if her life might better have been spent, in researching the cure for dullness. She smiled briefly at the thought and then found her mind wandering to her work. Seven years of research and development were drawing to a close. Her potion... her _team's _potion was almost perfect, and would likely change the course of wizarding medicine forever. The concept of future hospitals being named after her was not out of the realm of possibility. But there was still so much left to do before she could present the final product to her backers and, ultimately, the world at large.

She had known that it was a bad idea to come to this tonight. This was valuable time that she was wasting, listening to this boring man drone on and on about absolutely nothing. Time that she could be using to work on her article for the New England Journal of Wizarding Medicine, or to check in with Vishwas and his latest tweak to the formula.

She was clearly going mad; it was the only explanation for why she had decided to accept the man's invitation. All of this, combined with the continuous subtle and not so subtle pressure she was receiving from her family that she should move back to England, did not help her reduce her stress levels. She had received a new picture of her newest nephew. He was growing into the jolliest of children, all grins and bushy red hair. Hermione's letter had said that Little Harry, as he was now known, was progressing nicely. He laughed often and had started to recognize her and Ron. It was a sneaky tactic, and Ginny hated to admit that it was working. Her heart ached that she wasn't there to see it in person.

Her date had stopped talking, and Ginny reveled in the silence. At least she did until she looked up and realized that he was choking. She flew into action and performed the Heimlich maneuver. His face had turned thoroughly blue before he coughed up a dinner mint that had arrived with the bill. The restaurant broke into applause and Ginny, embarrassed at the attention, sat down after making sure that he was all right. He was shaken up but otherwise unscathed.

"Your half comes to thirty dollars," he said, hoarsely.

The only thing that prevented Ginny from hexing him on the spot was the prospect of the hefty fine that would accompany the use of magic in a restaurant full of Muggles. She put her credit card next to his on the bill, and excused herself to the restroom. When she returned he smiled kindly at her, and he wasn't as chatty as she signed her receipt. Suddenly the gentleman, he held the door for her as they left the restaurant. Then the talking began again, and he didn't stop until they were outside of her building, when he fell silent for several moments.

"I had a really nice time tonight," he said suddenly.

She made another non-committal noise, looked at her watch, and then back up at him; he'd closed his eyes and was moving in for a kiss. She turned her head and he kissed her ear. He was quick to recover, however, and made a try for her lips, again; she pushed him away.

He looked at her as if she had betrayed him. "What gives?" he asked.

Ginny made a show of yawning. "I'm really tired. I should get to bed."

"Do you want me to tuck you in?" he asked, suggestively, moving closer to her, again.

She took another step back. "No, that's quite alright."

He turned around and walked away angrily, mumbling something that sounded like, "Fucking tease."

Ginny fumed. She entered her dark her flat, angry and still hungry.

She was immediately accosted by several owls, carrying rolls of parchment. They wore green hoods, and she recognized them as being from the medical school. Either Vishwas had made a breakthrough, or he had hit a wall in their latest formula. Either way she didn't want to deal with it right now. Even though all she could think of during her date was getting back to work, the only thing she wanted to do now was take a hot bath and eat some ice cream. So she ignored the parliament of owls that was roosting in her entryway and entered her small bathroom, discarding pieces of clothing the entire way. With a flick of her wand, she lit several candles and turned on the hot water.

Twenty minutes later Ginny entered her kitchen, toweling her hair. She grabbed a pint of mint chocolate chip from the freezer and a box of owl treats from the pantry. She greeted her feathery guests, and gave them each a treat, after removing them of their burdens. They each gave her an indignant look as they flew away. She sat at her desk with her ice cream and started reading the familiar scrawl.

_Spring 2005_

_Ginny had met Vishwas during her freshman year at Johns Hopkins Wizarding Medical School. He was a TA in her second semester potions class. The two hit it off right away, but it was only after she wasn't his student any more, that they became friends, and_(,)_ for a brief period, lovers. _

_She had been sitting in the cafeteria, poring over an advanced potions text, and growing visibly frustrated by what she was reading when he sat down across from her. _

_"Do you need any help?" he'd asked. _

_Her smile had been genuine, and he became her tutor. It had been another semester, before they made out for the first time, and it was another year after that, before they decided that they had, within them, the knowledge to change the world. _

_She'd just moved into her first flat, living alone, and they were sitting among the boxes drinking wine, while he filled her in on Daya, the woman who would eventually become his wife. Eventually the conversation turned to school. She had just begun her internship at Creagor Memorial, and was in the middle of her rotation in the infectious disease ward. There had been an outbreak of dragon meningitis and several deaths as a result. _

_"...And the only thing we can do is give them potions to relieve their symptoms. It's frustrating," she said, pouring herself some more wine. _

_He nodded his agreement. _

_"So I had this patient last week; he was a kindred soul of my dad." _

_He gave her a blank look._

_"Really into Muggle stuff," she explained. "Anyway, he agreed to try penicillin, a Muggle drug that kills bacteria," she added. He was giving her another blank look. "I gave him an I.V., and there seemed to be some improvement over the next few days. It stopped working for him, but I think there's something there!" she finished excitedly, sloshing some of her wine on the floor. She tapped her wand on the spot, and the stain disappeared. _

_"Something where?" he asked._

_"Antibiotics," she said. "Dragon meningitis is caused by bacteria, it's just too strong for Muggle drugs, but if we were to use it as a starting point..."_

_His eyes became bright as he realized the potential of what she had just said. He'd secretly always thought her a little strange, for focusing so much of her time on Muggle medicine, but now he saw that it might not have been such a waste of time. The two brought their proposal to the school and were given permission to run with it. They made a great team. Vishwas provided the potions expertise, and Ginny the Muggle science. The rest, as they say, was history._

The first letter was from Vishwas, and it contained good news. The preliminary results were in from the three hospitals that were running trials of augmentin potion, and there was an eighty five percent cure rate. The letter was accompanied by several sheets of data, which she placed on top of the latest draft of her article. The letter continued to detail tweaks to the formula that he wanted to make. They had decided that the main problem was that the potion worked too well, and often killed more than the targeted type of bacteria, some of which the patient needed to aid in his recovery. Their new course of action was to slow it down over several doses, in the hopes that only the infectious bacteria would be destroyed.

The second letter was from Carol, her mentor and advisor at the medical school. She was responsible for overseeing the project and making sure the school's money was not being mismanaged. It wasn't a terribly difficult job for her. Apparently she had taken it upon herself to book Ginny and Vishwas on a radio program to discuss their innovation. She didn't know how to feel about that so she put the letter aside, and decided to worry about it later.

The third and final letter was from Vishwas, again. It was short and contained the somewhat urgent phrase, "I need to speak with you." She looked at the clock; it was eleven thirty. _She_ should be in bed, but she knew that he wouldn't be. She took a handful of Floo powder, and threw it into her fireplace, speaking his address. Vishwas' face appeared in the flames.

"Gin!" he said, smiling. "How was the date?"

"Terrible, but I don't want to talk about it," she said, sitting on the floor. "What's up?"

"Did you get my letter?" he asked. "What do you think of the changes?"

"They looked fine," she said. "But we can talk about that tomorrow, at our meeting to discuss the latest formula," she said pointedly. "What's up?"

"You know me too well," he said, smiling. "Daya's pregnant, we just found out."

"Vish, that's great news!" she said enthusiastically. "How far along is she?"

"About six weeks," he said, still grinning. "You're actually the first person we've been able to get a hold of to tell."

"I'm honored." She stifled a yawn. This time it was genuine.

"Are you still on the early shift?" he asked.

She nodded. "Always."

"I'll let you get to sleep, then. We can talk tomorrow."

"Congratulations," she said. "Give my love to Daya."

"I will. Sleep well."

She stood up, put her ice cream away, and went to bed, with a much lighter heart than she had had earlier in the evening.

* * * * *

"'Morning, Gin. How was the date?"

Ginny made a thumbs-down gesture at her fellow healer, as she entered the break room of Creagor Memorial's emergency room.

"Really? You seemed excited about him."

She spun around and placed a hand on her hip. "Words can't even describe how bad it was," she said, and then quickly added, by way of clarification, "And I wasn't excited about _him_. I was excited about the prospect of new conversation and eating a meal that was neither from the cafeteria, nor take away pizza." She resumed her trek to the coffee pot.

He chuckled. "Careful what you wish for. So you're still single, then?" he asked, following her.

Ginny smiled, knowing she was walking into a scheme of some kind. "Yep," she said, good-naturedly.

"Good," said Troy. "Becs has someone she'd like you to meet. He's English, and seems like an okay guy."

"No," Ginny said, firmly. She poured herself a cup of coffee and took a deep drink. Troy was still standing behind her.

"Can you come over this weekend?" he asked pleasantly, undeterred by her answer.

"No," she repeated.

"Oh, come on, Gin. You _owe_ me."

"_What_ do I owe you?" she asked indignantly.

"I covered your shifts, while you were in England!" he said, triumphantly.

She wished she had a clever retort for him, but it was true. "This is how you want to call in your favor?" she asked, skeptically.

"No, _I'd_ rather you cover my shifts while I take Becky to Hawaii, to propose to her," he said, honestly. "_She_ wants you to meet her colleague, and I can always get Jeremy to cover for me while I'm gone."

"You're going to propose?" she asked, with a slightly goofy smile. She'd known Troy for a long time, and this was a big step for him.

"Yeah," he said, his face brightening. "So, will you come over?"

She sighed. "All right," she said. "I'll meet him, but I really can't this weekend. I'm working at G.U."

"How about Monday?" he asked.

"Fine," she relinquished.

He put his arm around her shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. "Thanks, sweetie," he said.

"You're welcome, dear," she replied sarcastically before pushing him away. "Now go home," she directed. "You look dead on your feet."

"I'll see you Monday. Come on over around seven thirty or so." He closed his locker door, and put a pair of sunglasses on his face. "Have a good weekend," he said as he walked out of the room.

"You too," she called after him. She placed her wand in her robe's pocket and left the room, coffee in hand, to perform her rounds. She looked at the board; it had been a relatively slow night, and blessedly it seemed to carry over to the morning. There were no new meningitis cases at the time, but there was still plenty of work to be done. She walked briskly up the stairs to the infectious disease ward.

Her first patient had a severe case of measles, a Muggle disease that had worked its way to wizard children in the last several years. Treatment was a modified potion that they gave people for dragon pox. Ginny, being who she was, generally added an IV of Ringer's lactate, to help keep them hydrated. So far there had only been minimal objections from patients and family members. She found that people were pretty open-minded when she calmly explained what she wanted to do, and why she wanted to do it. She had a special "doctor" tone of voice for times like those. It was calm and reassuring, and it had taken years for her to perfect.

Her shift ended on time, and without any major medical emergencies. She immediately flooed to the medical school, where Vishwas' lab was. He was hunched over his desk making notes on a scroll. She decided to leave him to his work, for the moment and checked on the interns in the lab.

Several people stood over a large cauldron making notes on clipboards. Ginny walked over to them.

"Hi, guys," she said brightly. "How's it looking?"

They looked up. Ted, the senior lab tech smiled. "I think we are very close with this last one," he said.

"Great," she said. "Let's head on over to the office and discuss it for a while." He gave some instructions to the others and followed her over to Vishwas' office, which was attached to the lab. He had finished his notes and was waiting for them expectantly.

The meeting was short, and almost unnecessary, but they had established a pattern of weekly meetings to brainstorm and keep everyone on the same page, and they were reluctant to discontinue them. Even when Ginny had been in England she had joined them via Floo. After business was taken care of, they chatted for a few minutes. Vishwas was ecstatic about the pregnancy, but he yielded the floor to Ginny, as she succumbed to the their constant inquiries about just how terrible her date could possibly have been. By the time she got to the part where he choked, neither he nor Ted could hold back their laughter any longer. The three of them left the office, with bright eyes and big smiles.

* * * * *

An hour and a half later, she entered her flat, burdened with several bags of groceries. It had been over a month since she had been able to get to the store, and she was ecstatic that she had not only finished early enough to shop for food, but that she also had enough energy to cook herself dinner, and maybe even get some exercise afterwards. Once she crossed her threshold she switched to magic and floated her groceries into the kitchen where they put themselves away. She cooked herself a delicious, yet nutritious dinner and went for a jog around her city before getting to bed early. She was going to have a long day tomorrow.

* * * * *

Draco

The June afternoon was hot and muggy. It was the perfect kind of day to sit in the shade, drink a cold beer, and people watch. Too bad he was in the hot sun watching an alcohol-free Little League game. He slathered another layer of sunscreen on his arms, face and neck, but he was sure he'd be pink the next day. He whistled and clapped as Sam came up to bat. "Come on, Sam!" he called. "You can do it!" He whistled again. She smiled and waved at him from home plate, and then cocked the bat behind her head and concentrated on the pitcher.

He was three months into his stay in the United States. Three months filled with research that hadn't yielded any particular results, bigotry that never seemed to diminish, and a feeling of boredom and helplessness that seemed to permeate every cell in his body over the last several, stagnant weeks since they had effectively finished their list of suspects but had no new leads.

He had thought that once they reached this point, he'd be able to return to London until they found something new, but Nym had squashed that dream by Obliviating everyone in his department, save for Joe. They thought he was on sabbatical, and had stopped his per diem. The red tape battle with the Ministry to be compensated for the lost income had lasted several weeks, but they finally pulled through. He was still upset with Nym over effectively being stranded in the New World, but at least he didn't have to cover his own expenses too. Joe's job was also made that much more difficult, because he had to do everything in secret.

Where Draco would normally have multiple cases to occupy his attentions, this was the only case on which he was allowed to work in America. So for the time being there was only the Park Slayer, or "Magician," as the American media had dubbed him, to occupy his thoughts. Going through every middle-aged white male who had entered the country during the time frame he was considering had been bad enough, but doing nothing but waiting for new evidence was driving him slowly mad. Rebecca had other cases that she was working, but he couldn't legally help her with them – although, sometimes they "chatted" about them. Sarah, Brian, and Bill were in the same predicament as he. They had no other cases and were starting to strain under the boredom. Even still, Draco couldn't have asked for a better team. It had been a credit to their characters when they delved into the research without complaint, and it was a credit to their skill that they had compiled the list of suspects – all 2,345 of them – in seven short weeks. The next task had been to cross-reference those suspects with the rosters from Hogwarts and the nine wizard academies that were scattered across America. Once they had done that, they still had several hundred people to consider, but they really couldn't trust the new list, because there were a lot of American wizards that had never gone to a formal school. The five of them attempted to devise ways of narrowing the list further, but nothing had been terribly effective, and they seemed to have run out of ideas.

On the flip side of the coin, Washington was a beautiful city, and he had leased his own flat in the heart of it. He had struck up a decent friendship with Rebecca and Troy, who he found to have a nice counterpoint to Rebecca's personality, and he had formed a solid team at the DoE.

_One month after his arrival in America:_

_Draco stepped out of the Metro Station and breathed the fresh May air. It was early in the morning, but the streets were full of people dressed in suits and talking on their cell phones whilst drinking coffee and finishing up the last of their grooming regimens. Draco sidestepped a woman who was somehow able to apply her eyeliner at the same time that she was holding what looked like two different conversations and drinking her coffee, (he'd had enough girlfriends to know to be impressed by her incredible display of multitasking), and entered the Muggle entrance to the Department of Magic. _

_He nodded to the security guard, who now knew him by sight, as he passed through the metal detectors and entered the elevator that took him to the main lobby of the department. _

_He passed Janice without acknowledgement and made his way to his small office. He was pleased to see Sarah, Brian, and Bill hard at work pouring over the bios of their potential suspects. At least Sarah, and Brian were working hard. Bill, who had proclaimed from the beginning that he was better at action than research, was balling up pieces of parchment and throwing them into the __waste paper__ bin in increasingly creative ways. "Morning," Draco said, ousting Bill from his chair and sitting down._

_The others murmured their greetings. _

_Draco yawned and scrubbed his face with his hands. "We're almost done__,__ right?" he asked, leaning his chair back as far as it would go. He gave a small jerk when he felt it go too far back, but was able to right himself._

_"In the grand scheme of things we are," said Brian, not looking up from his book, and jotting down another name. "I mean the Earth is over four billion years old, right? What's another month of mind numbing research compared to that?" He closed his book and __A__ccio'ed the next off of the tall stack in the corner._

_"Right," Draco said. "It's good to keep perspective on everything." He stifled another yawn and got to work. _

_The morning passed quickly enough. At noon several owls flew by his open office door signaling the delivery of external mail, and lunchtime for the small group. Draco knew that it was more efficient for them to take staggered lunch breaks, but he had established, early on, the ritual of going out together and getting to know each other. For instance__,__ on such outings he had learned that the story of Bill's disgrace wasn't so much an act of insubordination, as his file had implied, but a rather amusing tale of Bill dating, and also being caught in a compromising position with Fletcher's college-aged daughter. He had learned that Sarah had aspirations of one day being America's second female Director of Magic, and that Brian's article on the Relevance of Forensic Practices to the Modern Enforcer, which he wrote while attending the academy, not only won him an award but was also published in several newspapers across the country – something his bio had neglected to mention. In return for these glimpses into their personalities, he told them the story of being piss drunk and locked outside of his dormitory completely starkers in the middle of January. They dropped his formal title of "Inspector Malfoy" after that, and referred to him as "Draco" or "Malfoy"._

_Draco stood up and stretched. "So what do you reckon?" he asked. "I could do with Greek myself."_

_"I'm in the mood for a good burger," said Bill._

_"Me too," added Brian._

_"I could go for a salad," Sarah chimed in. "But I suppose I can get that anywhere," she added as an afterthought. _

_"I guess we go pub fare," said Draco. _

_They were filing out of his office when an owl and a paper airplane flew through the entrance and landed on his desk. "Hang on a moment," he said to the others as he relieved the owl of its burden and unfolded the airplane. He leaned against his desk and scanned his letters. The owl had carried Tonks__'__ reminder that he needed to be more frequent in his updates, lest she send Harry out to help him. He gave a small shudder at the thought. Her letter closed, less than professionally, asking him to give her love to Jude and the others. _

_The paper airplane was the answer to his request to enlarge his office. Apparently the building's architectural design didn't allow certain stress points to be altered physically. His tiny office fell into that category. Draco's dreams of having an office with a sofa crashed to the ground. He crumpled up the letter and threw it in the bin, leaving Nym's letter on the desk as a reminder to write her back._

_He got up and went to lunch with his colleagues. When they returned, Rebecca was seated at his desk, studying one of the books, and munching on an apple. She marked the page and closed the book when they arrived. Draco saw a small list of names and their corresponding pages for reference, next to the text. She must have just missed them._

_"Hi," she said. "Anything exciting happen?"_

_"Yes," said Draco, dryly. "We solved the case, arrested the suspect, and had tea."_

_She smiled. "Perfect, I knew you could do it. Go team." _

_With the sarcasm out of the way they held their meeting. _

_Everyone gathered around, and sat on chairs, his desk and the floor. Rebecca started with something that had been weighing heavily on everyone's minds. "We should be finding another body soon," she said, gravely. "Three to six weeks in between kills, and another three to six weeks before we find his victim. The FBI has decided to get a leg up on the aftermath and has compiled a list of missing persons. There are five women who would be potential targets for our suspect." She passed around file folders to everyone. "We're working on the same thing but we need you to start cross referencing your current and future lists of suspects for possible connections." _

_Sarah cleared her throat. "Haven't these attacks been random?" she asked, sounding slightly confused. They had been spending so much of their time on possible identities that they hadn't ever discussed motivations. Connections to Kristen Adams had already been considered before they had even begun. _

_Draco spoke from his perch on his desk. "Nothing is completely random," he explained. "While he probably doesn't know them personally, he likely doesn't go too far out of his way to find his victims. I suspect that in London he hired prostitutes to take the place of the women he really wanted to kill. That combined with our free Apparition laws meant that he didn't need live or work anywhere near his victims. He's more restricted here." He turned to Rebecca. "We'll refine our list," he said. "Good work."_

_"I'm free for the rest of the day," she said, opening up her book to the page she left had left off. Draco let her have the desk and chair and sat on the floor with his back against the wall. _

_After they had called it a night, Draco and Rebecca had dinner together, as Troy was still working afternoons and evenings. _

_"How's the new apartment?" she asked, after they had ordered. _

_"It's well," he answered. "I assembled my sofa, and table last night, and my Floo will be hooked up tomorrow." _

_"When's the house warming party gonna be?" she asked._

_"When I move back to my flat in London," he said. "It will be a re-warming party, you should come."_

_"Ha ha," she said sarcastically. _

_"I'll tell you what, I'll invite you and Troy over for dinner... as soon as I buy more chairs."_

_"How many did you buy?" she asked skeptically._

_"One," he answered as if it were obvious. "I work all day and eat all of my meals out," he defended himself against the look she was giving him. "For that lifestyle one needs precisely one bed..." He started ticking the list on his fingers. "One sofa, for the off chance one isn't tired enough to go to sleep as soon as one gets home. One table, and one chair, so that if one ever needs to eat at home one will have somewhere to sit, and a telly, because the flat comes with cable and one doesn't want to waste the money, and so one can keep up with the news on those rare evenings that one isn't tired enough to go to sleep as soon as one arrives home," he finished, smugly._

_She was silent for a moment and then started laughing. She shook her head in defeat, and started eating the dinner that had just arrived. "Is that how you live in London too?" she asked after a while. _

_He took a sip of his beer and answered, "No. In London I get to live a semi normal life. I go to the occasional murder scene, write a detailed and completely accurate profile and give it to the people who chase after the bad guy, as said profile inevitably leads to an arrest. Then I get to go home, cook dinner and relax." _

_"Except for The Magician," she reminded him._

_"Except for The Park Slayer," he confirmed. "The profile's still changing, and my job doesn't end, and then I get promoted to magical detective by my cousin." _

_"I'm deeply sympathetic to your terrible plight," she said sarcastically. _

_"Clearly no one suffers more than I," he said, grinning._

_Later that night, he entered his flat and flopped on to his bed, falling asleep almost immediately. _

It had taken them another three weeks to finish the list of suspects, and then there was nothing else to do. No new body had turned up, and Draco's days were spent trying to top Bill in creative dust bin tosses, and trying to coax information about Rebecca's other cases from her. Which is perhaps the reason he practically jumped at the chance to help Jude and Tom when they asked.

He was closer than ever to the Millers. It was great living so near to them. He was at their house practically every weekend, and had been given the title of Uncle by his two youngest cousins.

He liked Sam because she always told the truth, no matter how blunt. Once she learned to curb her mouth, it would likely be an asset for her. If he had to guess, she would probably be a Gryffindor, or a Hufflepuff, like her auntie Dora. But he didn't hold that against her. She was so down to earth that he found it easy to talk to her like a person, rather than a child. She was even a good sounding board for his problems. She definitely didn't hold back if she thought he was being silly. The two had struck up an unlikely friendship during his tenure in DC, which is why he didn't mind melting to death in the ninety-degree heat while she played in her baseball match. He had even looked up the rules beforehand, so he would know what the hell was going on.

Kevin, on the other hand, had a streak of Slytherin in him. He was very sly and covert, even at three. He would definitely keep Jude and Tom on their toes, and it was very amusing to watch sometimes. He was with his parents in Philadelphia at the moment, though, and Draco wasn't ashamed to admit that he was a little relieved that he didn't have to watch him, too.

Several days before, Draco had been woken up in the early hours of the morning by his phone. Jude was on the other end of the call, and she was in distress. Tom's father had had a heart attack and they needed to go to him. Sam had summer school, though, and she couldn't miss it. Would he be able to stay with her for a few days? Draco hadn't hesitated. He had thrown on some clothes, packed a small bag, and taken a cab straight over to Jude's. He had been living at the house for almost a week, and the two of them were doing fine. The fact that he couldn't drive had been a hindrance, but only a small one.

Crack! The sound of bat hitting ball reminded Draco of his surroundings. Sam had connected with the ball and had begun rounding the bases. Draco stood up and cheered her on. As Sam dived for home plate three things happened. 1) She collided with the catcher; 2) The umpire made the safe gesture; and 3) Sam screamed in pain as she clutched her arm to her chest. Draco raced down the bleachers over to her. One of the mothers, a nurse, got there first. She was examining the rapidly swelling arm.

"I think it's broken," she said, as Draco crouched down next to them, and patted Sam's back reassuringly. "You should take her to the hospital to have it x-rayed."

"Right," Draco said, standing up fighting his urge to panic. She was not, after all, mortally wounded. "Where's the closest one?"

"It's not far from here, it's Georgetown University Hospital. I can drive with you and give you directions if you want."

Draco helped Sam up, carefully. "That'd be great, except I don't drive. Would you be willing to give us a ride? I can contribute gas money," he added, needlessly.

"Don't be silly," she said. "Of course I'll take you."

Sam was still crying, as she and Draco followed the woman and her son to the car. As they passed her coach, he gave Sam an enthusiastic thumbs up. "We couldn't have done it without you, Sammy," he said. "Get better soon. We'll need you for the playoffs." Sam smiled through her tears.

* * * * *

The hospital waiting room was packed with people who had a variety of sicknesses and injuries. He guided Sam to a chair, as far away from anyone with an open wound or who was hacking up a lung as he could find. He went up to the reception desk and began filling out the forms. A couple of hours later, their name was called and he walked with Sam to the examination room.

* * * * *

Ginny sat at a table in the lounge, finishing up some paper work and drinking coffee. She thought that if she played her cards right, she might get to leave a few minutes early. At least, she did until her recently married friend, Jennifer, came into the room with a clipboard that she threw on the table in front of her.

"I've got one for you: a little girl with a broken arm!" she said excitedly.

Ginny looked up from her work. "I'm off in ten minutes, can't someone else take it?" She did her best to keep the whinge out of her voice, but didn't quite succeed.

"Kevin's on vacation, Mason already left, Charlie's late, _again_, I already owe Allison an extra shift of her choosing and I have _theatre_ tickets." She stuck out her bottom lip and batted her eyelashes. "Besides the dad's English, you can talk to him."

"You do realize that _you_ speak English, right? In fact it's the language that we're speaking to each other right now."

"Yeah but I say truck instead of lorry, and elevator instead of lift. It's like a completely different language, and did I mention he's cute and not wearing a wedding ring?"

"Ah," Ginny said getting to the crux of the matter. "Trying to marry off the whole world again?"

"Not the whole world, just you. You're too pretty not to have someone."

Ginny rolled her eyes at this. Jennifer continued looking at her with puppy dog eyes. "Fine," she relinquished. "I'll take your case, if you run these up to the lab for me." She handed the stack of papers, and a few vials of blood to her friend.

"Thanks, Gin, I owe you one."

"You owe me twelve at this point," she said sourly.

"Yeah, well, they're in exam room two." Jennifer left with the paper work, and a clear pass to leave early for her show.

Ginny sighed as she walked down the hall to exam room two. She was tired, it had been a long day and if Charlie didn't show up for his shift, she would probably have to stay even longer. Today alone she had been bled on, vomited on twice, and hit on by two drunks and a twelve-year-old boy. Despite all of this, she put a smile on her face as she opened the door to the exam room.

Draco sat next to the table on which Sam now sat. Her arm was very swollen but she was no longer crying, in fact, she didn't look to be in any pain at all. He filed this away as something to bring up to Jude about: this little girl - who was swinging her legs and staring at an anti-smoking poster on the wall - was definitely a witch. He looked up as the door opened and a woman in navy scrubs walked into the room; there was a stethoscope around her neck, labeling her as a doctor, and her red hair was pulled back in a messy braid. She wore a smile but it didn't quite reach her eyes. It looked like this had been a rough day for her.

"Hello." Her voice had more cheer in it than he would have expected, and he was surprised to hear a South West accent. "Which one of you is Samantha?"

Draco smiled slightly at her joke and Sam, who had been becoming increasingly nervous, giggled. "She is," he said pointing.

Ginny crouched down so she was eye level with the girl. "Hello, Samantha, I'm Dr. Ginny. Is it okay if I look at your arm?"

Sam nodded and held out her swollen arm.

Ginny probed it feeling for fractures. "How did this happen?" she asked, conversationally.

Draco cleared his throat. "Sliding into home plate."

"Did you score?"

The girl smiled. "Yeah, we won."

"I bet your dad's very proud," she said, smiling slightly at him. "Does this hurt at all?" her attention was back on her task.

The little girl shook her head. "Oh, that's not Dad, that's Uncle Draco."

Ginny's eyes widened and her face paled. She stared at 'Uncle Draco,' who was smiling at his niece. How could she have missed who he was? "Draco… Draco Malfoy?"

He looked up. "Er-yes, sorry, do I know you?"

She blinked a few times, trying to regain control of her brain and flatly replied, "You're better acquainted with my brother." She watched as recognition flashed in his eyes.

"You're the Weasel girl, aren't you?" he said without thinking and looking just as shocked as she was.

Her cheeks flushed, and her jaw tightened, but she said nothing as she continued with her examination of Samantha who had been watching the encounter curiously, still not showing any signs of pain. She should be in pain, too. This was a nasty break. Realization dawned on her face as she made the connection. It was a fairly common use of magic in young witches and wizards. "This doesn't hurt at all?" she asked making sure of her theory.

Sam shook her head. "Uh, uh."

"All right, dear." Ginny let go of the child's arm. "Will you wait here while I speak with your uncle for a moment?" She handed Sam the stethoscope that she'd noticed her eyeing during the exam. "I keep losing this, would you mind holding on to it for me? I know you'll keep it safe." Sam beamed as she took the instrument.

Ginny opened the door to the hall and allowed Draco to precede her out. "Why didn't you take her to Creagor Memorial?" she asked, as she closed the door. "She could be home right now playing another round of baseball, or something."

Draco was mildly taken aback, he had half been expecting her to accuse him of breaking Sam's arm as some kind of Death Eater ritual, but he answered her truthfully. "She doesn't know she's a witch, I figured a Wizarding Hospital would be a bit much, and then I'd have her mother to contend with." He smiled, sheepishly.

Ginny's eyes widened, again, in surprise; first at his statement, then at the smile, which was completely different from the trademark scowl that had graced his face all through school. She sighed; this was going to mean staying even longer. "Okay, here's the deal: her wrist is badly broken and I can give you two options. Option one: I send you upstairs for an X-ray, her break is set and cast, and we send you home. Option two: I change the break into a sprain, send her up for an X-ray, she gets a bandage rather than a cast, and I heal it all the way before you leave - although I suppose we could leave it sprained, call that option two-A. Unfortunately it does have to be X-rayed. Too many people have already seen it for me to fix it completely right now, and that much magic would probably confuse her."

Draco was frankly impressed by her professionalism, especially after the Weasel comment. He could tell she had wanted to retort after that too, but she hadn't. He smiled gratefully and took option two. There was no reason why Sam should have to spend the rest of the summer in a cast, or a bandage. Ginny left to get her wand, and he went back into the room with Sam. She was listening to her heartbeat. Draco lifted the earpiece off of her head. "It won't be much longer now, kid. Dr. Weasley will be right back."

"She's pretty."

"You think?"

"Yeah, and she's nice." Sam went back to her heart.

Draco leaned back in his chair and tried to remember what he knew about the youngest Weasley. He could remember a quiet girl who had followed Potter around like a lovesick puppy, and the embarrassment of her little Bogey hex in his fifth year, but nothing that would explain how she had ended up working in a Muggle hospital in Washington, DC. Had he ever thought about what she'd be doing fifteen years after Hogwarts, it probably would have included minding after Potter's half-blind progeny.

She walked back into the room, pulled her wand out of her pocket, and very deftly, he thought, changed the break into a sprain - without Sam even noticing that she had done anything at all. He watched as she wrote something on a pad and handed it to him.

"Give this to April, on the fourth floor, and she'll set you up for an X-ray. Bring her back down to see me before you leave and I'll finish her up." Samantha handed her back her stethoscope. "Thank you for looking after this for me. It was very nice meeting you." She shook Sam's outstretched, healthy hand.

"Thank you, Dr. Ginny," she said politely.

Draco was about to thank Ginny for all of her help, when a wheeled stretcher was rushed past the window. A nurse stuck his head in the door.

"Ginny we need you, rape victim, severed carotid, her vitals are dropping. Charlie's still not here yet."

"Hell," she said and then ran out the door.

Bells went off in Draco's head as he heard the description of the injuries. "Wait here," he said to Sam as he followed the commotion down the hall. Through the small windows in the doors to the trauma room, he watched as Ginny and many others worked tirelessly to save the young woman's life. Alarms were going off and Ginny started CPR, while someone else charged the defibrillator. He silently prayed, to any god who might be listening, that she lived long enough for him to question her about her assailant. He grabbed Sam, took her up to the fourth floor, and entrusted her to April with a hurried apology, and promises of candy and ponies. Then he rushed back down to the emergency room just in time to see Ginny stop compressions and say something that looked suspiciously like 'time of death...' Draco swore and punched the wall.

Inside the trauma room Ginny called time of death as the various machines were turned off. She stared down at the pretty young woman in front of her and hated who ever it was that had done this to her. She started to remove her gloves and gown.

"Dammit!" She heard from outside in the hall followed by a thump. She could see Malfoy pacing back and forth down the hall talking furiously into his cell phone. She threw her gloves and gown in the receptacle and stepped into the hall.

"No one touches _anything_ until I get there, do you understand me? Secure the area but leave the site to me!"

He hung up his phone and ran a hand through his hair; she could see that the knuckles on his right hand were bruising and swollen. He turned around and scanned the room; when his eyes landed on her, he approached. There was an air of command around him. He looked furious, and Ginny was instantly put in mind of schoolboy Draco, whenever Harry caught the snitch first. She braced herself for whatever ridiculous demand he would have of her. They had probably run out of pink bandages upstairs or something.

"Who will be performing the rape kit?"

She was not expecting this question and faltered as she replied, "I-I suppose the pathologist and the police – they're like Aurors," she added in explanation.

He gave her the briefest of strange looks before he was back to being serious. "I need you to be there, too. Search for any evidence of magic use. When you finish, call me at this number." He handed her his card, then headed for the elevators, presumably to go up to X-ray.

She stared after him until she could no longer see him, and then looked down at the card. In addition to his name and phone number, it was embossed with insignias she recognized as those of the Ministry of Magic, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the FBI, and after a moment of thought, she realized the fourth was Scotland Yard. Just what had Draco Malfoy been up to since he left school? She went back into the lounge and put the card and her wand away in her locker. She was about to leave to go back to the rape victim and see what spells she could find when the elusive Charlie came in.

"Hey, Gin, didn't think you'd still be here. Waiting for me?"

She narrowed her eyes a little.

Charlie was a brilliant doctor; the problem was that he knew it, and thus he tended to be irritatingly conceited. What was even more irritating was that he masked his conceit with charm, and women tended to fall all over themselves to share his bed – even when he was on the night shift, like he had been lately. When they had first met he had asked her out often, but she, at least, proved immune to his charms, or she pretended to be, which amounted to the same thing. They now shared an easy work friendship.

"Just finishing a couple of cases," she said a bit stiffly. "Why are you late, an emergency blonde?"

He put a hand on his heart. "That _hurts_, Ginny. I'll have you know she was a brunette." He grinned, good-naturedly, as she threw a pen at him; he caught it and put it in his lab coat pocket. "When are you going to realize that you're hopelessly in love with me?"

"When you come to work on time," she replied, walking out the door.

* * * * *

She arrived at the trauma room just in time to see an attendant wheeling the victim into the hallway.

"You're done with her, right?" he asked.

"Yes. Are you taking her down stairs?"

He nodded. "Yes, Doctor."

"I'll go with you if you don't mind."

He shrugged and started to the elevator.

As she walked beside the young woman, she understood why Malfoy had wanted her to be around for the postmortem examination. Cleaning charms had been used on her body. She doubted there would be much for the pathologist to discover. It wasn't her job to find them, but she suspected there would be no fingerprints on the woman, and if the killer had removed his fingerprints, then it would stand to reason that he had removed his semen, as well.

She found herself going over a timeline in her head. If he had been caught in the act of raping her, it wouldn't take more than, maybe, thirty seconds to slice the girls throat clumsily – and it had been done clumsily: had the ambulance had been able to reach her sooner or the hospital been closer, she might have survived – cast two or three cleaning charms, and Apparate the hell out of there. The cop, or whoever had found them wouldn't have stood a chance. But still, why cut her throat at all? Surely it would be far simpler to just use the Killing Curse and leave. The punishment would be the same. They arrived at the morgue and as a technician checked them in, the attendant took his leave to go back to work.

"When do you expect to perform the autopsy, Dr. Martin?" she asked the pathologist who had entered the room as the young woman was being placed in a locker.

"A "Special Agent Salinger" just called. They're bringing in someone from the FBI to do it. I'm to wait until he gets here. Why?"

"I'd like to be there when it happens."

Dr. Martin looked surprised. "You would?" he asked disbelievingly.

Ginny corrected her earlier statement, "I've been asked to be there when it happens."

He shrugged. "It's up to the FBI, Dr. Weasley. It'll be done tonight, if you want to wait."

Ginny sighed "Thank you." She sat down in the chair opposite his desk and stared at the crossword he had started earlier. She was looking around for a pencil when Draco walked in.

"Did you find anything?" he asked.

Ginny stood up. "There were some cleaning charms; I'll know more later when they do the autopsy."

Draco nodded. "I appreciate you doing this, um—" he paused awkwardly. "It's getting kind of late, and I should be getting Sam home, plus I have to get out to the scene before someone mucks it up. Do you think you could finish with her arm? I'd do it myself, but I'd probably mess it up, somehow."

Once again, Ginny was surprised. The man standing in front of her was thanking her, and humble, and actually looked grateful. _Draco Malfoy _looked grateful. It was almost more than she could handle. She did her best to hide her surprise, as she answered, "Of course, just let me get my wand; I'll meet you in the waiting room." She followed him down the hall, but veered off to stop at her locker. She grabbed her wand and caught a glimpse of herself in the small mirror she kept in her locker. Her hair was messy and there were bags under her eyes; she looked awful. "Figures," she mumbled.

Draco was sitting with the sleeping girl on his lap; he was checking his watch, and tapping his foot. She grabbed a lollipop from the reception desk and walked over to them. "All better," she said, quietly after tapping the girl's wrist and muttering the incantation.

Draco looked up. "Thanks, I need to get her home." He paused while he stood up. "If you could find out the exact cleaning charms he used, that would be very helpful to me. Call me at that number when you find out. Thanks again."

"Are you going to fill me in on any of this?"

Draco looked at the clock on the wall, "Not at the moment." He turned to leave.

"Oh… Malfoy." He looked back, she held up the sucker. "I'd say she's earned this today." She put it on his shirt front pocket as his hands were occupied holding his sleeping niece.

"Thanks," he said returning her small smile, before heading outside, where there was a cab waiting.

She went back down to the morgue and waited for the FBI to come for the young woman. Dr. Martin was sitting at his desk working on the crossword. "Thirteen down is 'Merlin'," she said as she sat opposite him.

He looked up. "You sure?"

Ginny nodded. "Pretty sure."

* * * * *

By the time she got home, it was almost ten, five hours after her twelve-hour shift had ended officially. She stumbled into her apartment, grabbed a slice of leftover pizza from the fridge, flopped onto her sofa, and turned on the television. The ten o'clock news was about to start. She knew she would never have the energy to stay up for the eleven o'clock broadcast. As it was, she fell asleep before the news even began, missing the report about a serial rapist / murderer striking again, and the live footage of a certain blond man snapping photos behind the police tape.

* * *

**Chapter End Notes:**

Thanks so much to AutumnKisses402 for pinch-hit beta job. Thanks also to Kazfeist and Lina for looking at this chapter as well.

The next chapter is well underway and shouldn't take as long to post as this one did.

And finally, as always, thank you for reading.


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